


Down to Earth

by sevali



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A little Otayuri kissing, Anal Sex, Costume Designing, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Insult Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Past Relationships, Skype Sex, a single scene of Chris/Phichit, degradation kink, food enjoyment, long fic, mentions of polyamory, sexy photography, skating retirement, they're slightly older here, threesome scene with Yuuri/Victor/Chris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 16:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 236,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevali/pseuds/sevali
Summary: Victor Nikiforov is planning to retire from competition the season of his 30th birthday, and is determined to make one last statement to the world. His plans bring into view one Yuuri Katsuki, a costume designer out of Detroit, though he quickly discovers that--due to a careless mistake he doesn't remember making--getting a costume out of the man will be harder than he planned for.Yuuri Katsuki runs a mildly successful costume-making business with Phichit Chulanont, his best friend and roommate, but he's prone to overworking, and Phichit is determined to take the business to the next level. After getting roped into a risqué photoshoot for their new catalog, Yuuri attracts the attention of the one person he never wanted to think about again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since I've gotten some questions about this fic, I'd like to clarify a few things to new readers:  
> Victuuri is endgame. It doesn't take very long for them to get together, but they do start out in non-romantic sexual relationships with other people (Phichit and Chris) which is why I included those tags.   
> While kinks are specified in the tags, not every kink is used all the time. I like variety and growth, so new things get introduced as the story progresses.  
> I would estimate that as of Chapter 28, I'm about 3/4 of the way through the story. The ending is planned, but still a little vague in my mind.  
> My writing pace has slowed a little, but I would like to provide a sizable update at least once a month. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your interest, and I hope you find something to like!

“No.”

“Come on, Yuuri! It worked so well the last time.”

“No, Phichit. I’m not doing it again.” Yuuri pressed down the pedal of the sewing machine slowly, carefully turning the fabric to stitch along the curve. The seam was too short to give Yuuri an excuse to drown out Phichit’s arguing for very long. He released the fabric and cut the threads free, holding it up to the bright lamp to inspect his work.

“But I already made this one to your measurements,” Phichit pouted. “Please. Just this once.”

“Last time was ‘just this once,’” Yuuri reminded him. “And I don’t get why you even want me to, anyway. I’m a laughing stock.” He stood from his table, taking the garment over to the dressform to make sure the shoulder seam didn’t pucker. The fabric had little give to it, so it was more important than usual to have perfect, uniform seams. Yuuri didn’t quite understand why anyone would request such stiff materials for skating, but it wasn’t his problem.

“And like I said, you’re definitely not,” Phichit said. “She didn’t even blame you for the malfunction. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Yuuri said. “If I’d double-checked the skirt—”

“She insisted on that fabric knowing full well it wouldn’t hold up to much strain. We warned her, remember?”

“I shouldn’t have made it.” Yuuri plucked at the fabric, checking for symmetry. It wasn’t _quite_ perfect, but it wasn’t worth ripping the seam and trying again. No one without a tailor’s eye could tell it wasn’t perfect, and in his experience, customers rarely complained about things like this.

“It wasn’t your fault, Yuuri,” Phichit said again. “Besides, that has nothing to do with what I’m asking here. I need a model, this costume is made _for you_ , and when I dress you up, no one even recognizes you. You’re definitely not a laughing stock—you made us more popular than ever.”

Yuuri frowned at his work, and tugged the garment off the dressform. At his table he sat down again and pulled out his seam ripper, carefully undoing the seam he’d just sewn. Maybe the customer wouldn’t notice, but he did, and it would bother him until it was fixed.

“Yuuri,” Phichit groaned. “Please. We don’t have enough in our budget this month to hire a model that looks like you. I’m really proud of this one, and it will look really good on you. I promise.”

“So is this advertising, or something for our catalog?” Yuuri asked through the pins clenched between his teeth. He pinned the shoulder seam again, careful to make sure he only pierced within the seam allowance.

“Both, ideally,” Phichit said, clearly excited to hear something that wasn’t an outright ‘no.’ “I’ll make it again if anyone asks, but it would take a special sort of performer to request it.”

Yuuri finished pinning and examined his work again before giving Phichit a sidelong glance. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nope. Not saying anything. You’ll just have to be surprised.” Phichit came over and shook Yuuri’s shoulders. “Come on, please? Leo owes me a favor, so we can book his studio again.”

The movements made Yuuri stab himself with a pin. “Ow, Phichit!” He thrust his hand away from the fabric, holding it aloft until he made sure his finger wasn’t bleeding. He only had to make the mistake of bleeding on a costume once before he learned never to let it happen again.

Phichit released him and stepped away sheepishly. “Sorry. Please, Yuuri? Will you be my model?”

No blood, thank goodness. Still, Yuuri set the jacket aside until he was completely sure, and sighed heavily. “Yes, yes, fine. _After_ I finish this jacket, which will probably won’t be until tomorrow or the next day.” Yuuri had to concede that he wouldn’t get any more work done tonight, late as it was. On top of redoing the shoulder seam, he still needed to press it, add the lining, and finish it with the trim, which would have to be hand-sewn since that particular brand had a tendency to get eaten by the machine.

“Tell you what,” Phichit said, leaning on the table. “I’ll do the trim on that jacket tomorrow if you promise not to say _one word_ of complaint when you model for me. Not about the makeup, the costume, any props I tell you to use, or any poses I put you in.”

Yuuri flushed at the implications. “Just what are you planning to do with me?”

“I have a vision, and I don’t want you to sully it with your endless complaining,” Phichit said with a sinister smile. “I need your trust for this.”

Yuuri looked at the jacket on the table. He’d been absolutely dreading the trim, since he was relatively slow at sewing by hand. He’d learned the machine first, and only developed his hand technique in the past year with Phichit’s help. Phichit would undoubtedly have it done in half the time it would take Yuuri, as he’d been sewing by hand since he was three.

But just what did Phichit want Yuuri to do that he wouldn’t be allowed to complain?

“Deal,” Yuuri said, already feeling like he was making a mistake.

Phichit grinned, and threw his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder. “Good. Now come to bed; you’re getting cranky. You shouldn’t even be down here.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. “Fine, fine.” Careful not to dislodge Phichit’s arm, Yuuri reached over and turned off the lamp and the sewing machine. On the way out, Yuuri flipped the switch to their work area, and closed the door firmly behind them.

It started out as a practicality that Yuuri and Phichit shared an apartment. After Yuuri had graduated college, all he could afford on his 30-hour-a-week retail job was a tiny apartment by himself, cutting and piecing patterns on the floor whenever he found time. For two years he saved up every penny he could from costume commissions, eventually building up enough work that he could quit his job and finally move to a bigger place.

When Yuuri decided he’d needed a partner after the 80 hours a week of work had proven unsustainable, Phichit practically fell into his lap. They’d gone to the same college, been in the same program, even shared a couple of classes in Yuuri’s senior year, though Yuuri hadn’t really remembered him. Phichit was a prodigy when it came to design work, and while he often lacked patience for patterning, his ideas always turned out beautiful. Yuuri had been in awe of him as soon as he saw his portfolio, and offered the new graduate a partnership on the spot.

Together they moved into an old two-floor building, using the industrial space on the bottom floor for their work, and keeping their living space to the second floor. It didn’t really have rooms, the bathroom the only place closed off with a door. Phichit had worked his magic and used cheap materials to section off a living space and bedroom space for them, and over the months they’d lived together, it transformed into something resembling a comfortable home.

Yuuri loved it. He felt like finally, after years of struggling on his own, he had finally carved out a place for himself, and he had Phichit to thank for it.

“Did you eat anything?” Phichit asked, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher they kept in the fridge.

Yuuri actually had to think. “I ate uh… when you brought me that sandwich.”

Phichit’s eyes widened. “Yuuri, that was _lunch._ Almost twelve hours ago.” He shook his head. “I knew it. I knew as soon as I went out to hang out with my friends without you, you’d work way longer than you should. It’s a wonder you didn’t work yourself to death before I joined you.”

Yuuri smiled sheepishly. “I was close to it more than once.”

Phichit swore under his breath, probably in Thai if Yuuri heard right. He pointed threateningly at Yuuri. “Alright, you. Food, then sleep. You’re sleeping in tomorrow morning, and you’re taking the day off.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to remind him that they needed to start on the next project as soon as the jacket was finished, but Phichit cut him off. “No. You can take _one day._ ”

“Isn’t it technically two days, since you’re making me model for you?” Yuuri asked.

“That’s still working, Yuuri.” Yuuri wasn’t the only one who got cranky at night, it seemed. “I’ll finish that jacket and start work on the next thing tomorrow. But I’m banning you from the workshop all day. Stay up here and watch Netflix all day if you want, but you _need_ some time to yourself. Now sit. I’ll make you another of my gourmet sandwiches, since that’s all the food we’ve bothered to buy this week.”

Yuuri sat on one of their barstools, pretending to be annoyed but secretly grateful for Phichit’s care. He sipped the water Phichit slid in front of him.

“You look so tired,” Phichit said after he’d pulled the ingredients out of the fridge. “Maybe we should just go to bed.”

Yuuri waved him off. “I’m fine. I can eat a sandwich.”

Phichit pressed his lips together and said nothing as he swiftly constructed the ham sandwich, with spicy mustard and Havarti cheese, just the way Yuuri liked it. He pushed the plate in front of Yuuri, and leaned on the counter, watching him closely.

“This is what you used to be like, isn’t it?” Phichit asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Before you hired me. Working nonstop all day, hardly eating or sleeping.”

“I had a schedule,” Yuuri said, but he knew it was a weak defense. “I had alarms set for when I needed to eat and sleep, but…”

“You didn’t stick to it, and one day you collapsed?” Phichit knew this story.

Yuuri nodded, feeling miserable at the memory. “I knew I couldn’t keep up anymore. I’d taken on too much work.”

“You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met,” Phichit said. “I used to think it was admirable, but once I really got to know you, I saw how it was killing you. Just in the time I’ve worked with you, I’ve seen you go from pale and sickly to someone with some color in his cheeks. Someone who looks like he might’ve had a meal more than once a day.”

Yuuri looked down shyly. “I only have you to thank for that.”

Phichit reached over and fluffed up Yuuri’s hair. “I’m aware. I’m never letting you go back to that life.” He walked around the kitchen island to stand behind Yuuri, using his warm hands to massage Yuuri’s back. “You’re talented, but it’ll all go to waste if you work yourself to death.”

Yuuri groaned and leaned into his touch. He hadn’t realized just how stiff his back was until Phichit worked his fingers into the knots.

“Finish eating and come to bed,” Phichit said with a final pat. Yuuri nearly cried out when he stepped away.

Yuuri could no longer deny how tired he was, with yawns quickly overcoming him and making his eyes water. He shoved down the last few bites of his sandwich, and washed the plate before going to the bathroom to prepare for bed.

They hadn’t started out sharing a bed. Yuuri had brought his twin bed over from his old apartment, and Phichit had slept on a futon on the floor for several months. But as soon as winter arrived, and the drafty building proved completely insufficient at keeping out the cold, Phichit had crawled into Yuuri’s twin bed, and things had never been the same since.

Phichit liked to cuddle, and, as it turned out, Yuuri did too.

There hadn’t been anything sexual, or even romantic at first between them. They merely worked together each day, and slept together each night. For warmth, for companionship—Yuuri hadn’t wanted to label it anything but a needed comfort at the end of the day. But when Yuuri eventually suggested buying a bigger bed, Phichit seemed to believe it was more serious than that.

And then they’d talked.

And talked. And talked and talked. Yuuri poured his heart out to his friend in a way he’d never done with anyone, not even his poor neglected best friend back in Japan. Phichit responded in kind, telling Yuuri everything about his life, his family, his home, his ambitions. It seemed as though their friendship had grown a thousandfold in one evening.

And then the kissing started.

Phichit was no stranger to kissing, but until that point Yuuri had been. He’d never thought of kissing, never dreamed that anyone would be able to get close enough to even want to. Phichit had leaned in with a trembling breath, and made the soft touch of lips seem like the most natural gesture in the world.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” Phichit had said in a soft whisper. Yuuri didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything, because that kiss had awakened something inside him that made him pull Phichit back for more, his heart pulsing with a deep, desperate yearning for physical contact and genuine affection. They’d kissed until their lips had gone red and raw, and when they’d parted and their eyes met, they’d laughed from the sweetness of it all.

For the first time in a long time, Yuuri had felt giddy.

In the months following that fateful night, Yuuri and Phichit only grew closer. It was as though a barrier had been lifted, and suddenly Yuuri found he wasn’t afraid of Phichit finding out anything about him. He wasn’t afraid of Phichit getting closer, of him sweeping out the corners of Yuuri’s mind and finding out his secrets. He _wanted_ Phichit to know him, and that was such an incredibly rare feeling that he couldn’t help but cling to it as hard as he could.

“Yuuri, you take too long,” Phichit pouted. “I’m tired.”

Yuuri finished up brushing his teeth, then sat on the edge of their bed to change. Phichit was already under the covers, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone.

“Phone,” Yuuri reminded him.

“One sec.” Phichit was clearly reading something that had his complete attention. Yuuri crawled into his side of the bed, and looked over Phichit’s shoulder.

“You’re just reading Twitter comments,” Yuuri said with a yawn. “Put it away.”

“Ugh, fine.” Phichit thrust the covers up and stalked across the apartment. Yuuri settled onto his side, and heard the familiar click of Phichit’s phone going on the charger. After a long argument one night Phichit had agreed to keep his phone as far away from their bed as possible, as Phichit’s addiction to social media had gotten so bad that it affected their sleep. He grumbled about it every night, but never failed to comply with Yuuri’s request.

Phichit slid back under the covers and turned off the lamp. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri had been dozing, but woke up just enough to respond. “Hm?”

“Do you really hate doing photoshoots?”

Yuuri turned around to face him. “No. I mean, they’re a pain, but you can make anything look good. No matter how much I complained, the outcome has always been worth it.”

Phichit didn’t say anything, but his eyes were still on Yuuri. He suddenly reached out and plucked the glasses from Yuuri’s face. “Forgetful.”

“Oh.” How had he not noticed? He must’ve been more tired than he thought. He took the glasses from Phichit’s hand and folded them onto his bedside table. “Thanks.”

“I just don’t want to coerce you into it if you really don’t want to,” Phichit said once Yuuri had settled back down. “I don’t want to be a bully.”

Yuuri reached out beneath the covers to find his partner’s hand, and they naturally laced their fingers together. Yuuri squeezed reassuringly. “Sometimes I need to be coerced, or I’ll never do anything different. If it really bothered me, I’d put up more of a fight, trust me.”

“You like being on display,” Phichit teased.

“I like seeing the photos,” Yuuri admitted. “It never really looks like me.”

“Because you put absolutely zero effort into your look,” Phichit said. He reclaimed his hand, and used it to reach out and push around Yuuri’s hair. “You’re sexy, you know.”

“St-stop,” Yuuri said, glad Phichit couldn’t see how flushed he was getting.

“You are. And my next project was made to maximize that sexy side of you. People will be filling our inbox with requests for our work after they see what I’m going to do to you in a couple of days. We’ll have steady work for the next year, I’m sure of it.”

“Just what are you planning to do to me?”

“Shh.” Phichit snuggled close, tucking his head beneath Yuuri’s chin. “Don’t worry about it. Just trust me.”

“You remember my rules?” Yuuri asked, snaking his arm around Phichit’s small body.

“Of course. Don’t be insulting. My costume complies with all your rules. And I know I made you promise not to complain, but if I cross a line, definitely speak up.” Phichit planted a soft kiss on Yuuri’s neck, then turned around in the circle of his arms, his back to Yuuri’s chest.

Yuuri squeezed him a little tighter. “Alright. I will.” Sleep began to claim him, and he drifted off, unsure if Phichit had anything else to say.


	2. Chapter 2

“Retire, bitch.”

“Fuck off.”

“Retire already.”

“Aaa-ah… No.”

Chris dug in to Victor’s hips, and thrust in with all his strength. “I said _retire.”_

“Uuhn.” Victor was rapidly losing his grip on reality, Chris’s words starting to sound like gibberish in his ears. But he knew the answer he was supposed to give, and parroted it out. “No. Never.”

“When you get on the ice tomorrow, you’ll _wish_ you’d retired,” Chris said through his grunting. “Every time you move these legs, you’ll feel it. You’ll say, ‘ _I should have listened to Chris. I should have retired._ ’” His voice was a feminine mockery of Victor’s, and in any other situation, it would have made Victor laugh.

Instead, though, his insults made Victor shudder with something resembling pleasure, a deep thrum of satisfaction that melted his insides. “You’re a fucker,” Victor spat.

Chris laughed breathlessly. “You think?” He drove into Victor’s ass with punishing force. “You’re close, aren’t you? Old bitch can’t take a fucking for very long anymore, can you?”

“Uh-uhn.” Victor _was_ close, but he felt like they’d been at it for hours. He really lost his sense of time when he did this with Chris.

“Weak. You’re so fucking weak. Imagine if your fans could see you like this. You think they’d still worship you? The Great Champion on his hands and knees, getting fucked like a dog. Who would want you, then?” Chris gave a hard, stinging slap to Victor’s thigh, and as he drove home one more time, Victor lost it.

Victor’s cries were loud and sobbing, his whole body tearing apart from the seams. Chris must’ve finished somewhere in there, too, as by the time Victor came back to awareness, Chris had released him.

Victor turned on his back, and spotted Chris across the room, lighting up a cigarette near the open window.

“I thought you quit,” Victor said, his voice cracking with dryness.

“I only cheat when I’m with you,” Chris said, his voice much softer than before. He let out a long breath, the smoke drifting towards the open air outside. At some point he’d slipped on the thin silk robe he always brought with him, the sash tied carelessly around his middle.

Victor sat up, pushing back his sweat-stained hair. The double-meaning of his friend’s words didn’t slip past him. “Are you cheating on your choreographer?”

Chris smiled at him like he was a child. “You didn’t think to ask that before we started?”

“I was desperate.”

“Clearly.” Chris took a long drag, and released it slowly. “No. I’m not cheating. He knows what you and I do, and what it means to us. Strictly speaking, our relationship is open, but right now you’re the only other person involved.”

“I’m honored,” Victor said, rubbing his sore knees.

“What would you do if I _were_ cheating, though? Would you kick me out after you got what you wanted?”

Victor turned to his friend with a deep frown. “I’m hurt, Chris. You think I’d use you like that?”

Chris let out a small laugh. “No. Not you. You’d just make sure we never did this again, until I presented you with a written permission slip from my partner.”

“I’d maybe ask why you were doing it in the first place,” Victor said. He stretched out on the bed, feeling relaxed and sated in that special way he always did after he’d been with Chris. “But yeah, I don’t want to be the one that wrecks your relationship. You seem to really like this guy.”

“He’s alright,” Chris conceded, though Victor knew his indifference was masking some genuine feelings he wasn’t quite ready to express. If Victor’s assumptions were true, this guy had lasted longer than any previous relationship Chris attempted, which was truly an accomplishment. Chris fixed Victor with a pointed look. “What would _you_ do, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“You _need_ this. It’s the only thing I’ve seen about you that I would call your weakness. Go too long, and you’re begging me to fly my perfect ass all the way to St. Petersburg for a booty call. I’m afraid if I cut you off, you’d do something stupid to get your fix.”

Victor glared. “I’m not _paying_ for sex, Chris.”

“Not unless it’s from a friend, huh?” Chris teased.

“You’re worth way more than the plane ticket and food I give you,” Victor teased back. “Admit it. A part of you likes doing this.”

“I thought my goal was to _deflate_ your ego, Nikiforov, not stroke it.”

Victor stretched out like a cat. “I already came. You can love me all you want, now.”

Chris put out his cigarette and closed the window before joining Victor on the bed, careful to avoid the sticky remnants of Victor’s mess. “I’ll do nothing of the sort. You want a boyfriend to dote on you after degrading sex, you’re looking in the wrong place.” Chris’s words resonated with affection, and he even reached out to gently stroke Victor’s face. “Dammit, Victor, you know I’m weak to you, too. I wouldn’t make this stupid trip otherwise.”

Victor closed his eyes, relaxing into Chris’s touch. “Thank you for coming when I asked. How have you been since Worlds?”

“Stuck, unfortunately. I’m running out of ideas on ways to keep up with you.”

Victor gave his friend an incredulous look. “Keep up with me? I’m hardly on top anymore. It’s hard to be 29 and compete with a 17-year-old prodigy.”

“You’re the one I’ve been chasing all these years,” Chris reminded him. “It’s hard to stop. I have no illusions that I’ll be able to reach the top, anymore.”

“You just want to be on top of me,” Victor said with a teasing smile.

Chris grinned, and hoisted himself up, encaging Victor’s relaxed body. “I _always_ get to be on top of you. Who else can make the Great Nikiforov whimper and beg?” He leaned down and nuzzled Victor’s neck, making Victor laugh.

“I know how you feel, though,” Victor said. “I think…” He hesitated. He hadn’t voiced this thought out loud to anyone yet, but it felt like it had been bouncing around in his head for ages. It was time to put it to words. “I think this might be my last competitive season.”

Chris stilled, then lifted up, clear concern on his face. “You’re serious?”

Victor pressed his lips together and shifted his gaze aside, unable to look his friend in the eye. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just keep thinking about how I’ll be thirty by the time Worlds happens again. I’m not young anymore—an injury would put me out of the game for good, and I don’t want to risk that for much longer. I want to go out on my own terms.”

Chris sat back on his heels, tracing a finger along Victor’s stomach. “Any ideas on how you’ll go out?”

Chris had accepted this more readily than Victor expected. For all that they weren’t really together, their careers had been undeniably linked. If Victor retired, he knew Chris wouldn’t be far behind. “I want to do a program that tells the world exactly who I am. I’ve been playing parts my entire life, putting on a different skin to try and get the best reaction, but for once, I’d like to do something that reflects only myself.”

“And what sort of program would that be?”

“…I don’t know yet. Want to help me while you’re here?”

“You know I can only spare a week.”

“A week is all I’m asking,” Victor said. “Not asking for choreography. I just need help figuring out the direction I want to go. A theme.”

Chris gave him a long look. “Why not just skate out there naked? Surprising, _and_ the real you. I’ll even give you some nice handprints on your ass, really give them the full story.”

Victor laughed. “I’d do it if the ISU wouldn’t ban me at the first attempt.”

“I’ll do it with you. Get us both banned. We’ll make history together.”

“I want to go out in a blaze of glory, but I don’t want to have to quit skating entirely,” Victor reasoned. “Plus, it might give poor old Yakov a heart attack.”

“Good point,” Chris said, getting off the bed. “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“You know me better than anyone, Chris. If anything, you can at least tell me if I’m going in the right direction.”

Chris sighed resignedly. “Alright. Maybe I’ll find my own inspiration somewhere along the way.” He grabbed Victor’s bare foot and shook it. “Clean up. You’re taking me out to dinner tonight.”

Victor winked. “After that, anything you want.”

While he showered, Victor couldn’t help but reflect on what just happened. It had been two months since Worlds, two months since he had gotten his much-needed fix, and now that he’d had his release, it felt like he could think clearly for the first time in weeks.

The thought was always sobering. Victor hated that he actually _needed_ what Chris gave him, that his inspiration and drive were always lacking if he went too long without sex. It was his weakness, as Chris pointed out, but it was also his lifeblood. He hadn’t minded as much when they were younger, both of them on top of the world without a care, but now that they were getting older, Victor knew their relationship as it was would soon reach its natural conclusion. No matter how indifferent he acted, Chris was serious about his choreographer, and no amount of openness in their relationship would make Victor feel comfortable asking Chris to scratch that itch as often as he needed it.

It really was a shame he and Chris couldn’t be true lovers, but they’d tried and failed and it wasn’t worth trying again. When Victor was 25, he’d proposed turning their fucking into something more serious, and for about a year, it had gone relatively well. But when they really delved deep into what they wanted out of life, it was clear they weren’t as compatible as they needed to sustain anything long term. Victor actually looked forward to his life outside of the skating world, dreaming of a quiet life in a home away from the city, away from people in general. Chris, though, never wanted to leave the flashy city life. He thrived in clubs, swam in alcohol, and lost himself in the sweaty crowds on the regular. Victor was no stranger to that life, thanks to Chris, but he could live without it.

Dating other people hadn’t gone all that well for Victor, either. It was hard enough to find someone who both shared his passions and didn’t put him on a pedestal, but finding someone who was willing to do what he needed in the bedroom proved near impossible. The few who tried simply couldn’t do it, and Victor could never really blame them. It was hard to insult someone like him and make it sound genuine, hard to compartmentalize the normal affection of a relationship and lock it away for a night. There had to be some natural anger or resentment—some inner, hidden desire to degrade him that most people simply didn’t possess. Chris, as someone who harbored slivers of jealousy towards Victor most of his life, was perfect for the job. He knew how to draw on those dark feelings he normally suppressed without getting _too_ real, and he could switch it on or off at the drop of a hat when the moment called for it.

Victor had really been spoiled by him, all these years.

By the time Victor had finished his shower, Chris was sitting on his bed, already dressed to the nines.

“Just where am I taking you tonight?” Victor asked.

“Oh, you know the place.”

Victor did, and he tried not to outwardly cringe at the inevitable cost of their evening. Chris was worth it, he reminded himself. Chris was worth all of it.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as they walked through the door, Yuuri’s body gravitated over to the couch, where he collapsed on his stomach and buried his head in a throw pillow. “I feel like I need twelve showers.”

Phichit locked the door. “Come on, Yuuri. It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Yuuri shuddered. “I’m actively trying not to think about what just happened. Seriously, _what_ gave you the idea for that costume?”

Phichit came over and draped himself over Yuuri’s body. “Believe it or not, you. _You_ were my entire inspiration.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely, one-hundred-percent serious.” His breath was hot on Yuuri’s neck, his voice sensual. “You’re sexier than you give yourself credit for, and those photos we took will prove it.” Phichit lifted up, and dug his fingers into Yuuri’s back. “Thank you for waiting until now to complain, though. I feel like I was able to really make my vision come to life.”

“Uuhn,” Yuuri groaned, Phichit’s fingers making him melt. Having to hold uncomfortable poses for long periods of time had really taken a toll on his already aching back, and now Phichit seemed intent on undoing the damage he’d caused. And he was good at it, Yuuri knew well. Phichit’s fingers always worked magic, whether they were used on costumes or Yuuri’s muscles.

Or other places on Yuuri’s body, which he was trying not to think about just now.

“What exactly _was_ your vision?” Yuuri asked, hoping for some distracting conversation. “What’s the point of all this?”

“Everything we’ve done up until this point has been pretty conventional, which has worked for us well enough so far,” Phichit said, his hands still working unceasingly. “But I think you deserve to stand out more. More importantly, I want you to make more _money_ for what you do. If we offer something wholly unique, something people clamor for, we can charge more, and you can stop thinking you have to work from 9am until midnight to make ends meet.”

“You’re focusing too much on me, here,” Yuuri said, wincing as Phichit dug into a knot in his shoulder. “You’re part of this, too. Arguably the most important part.”

“Yuuri, if it weren’t for your steady hard work, I would be a starving college graduate flipping burgers while I begged one of the big companies to hire me. If it weren’t for your patterning skills and encyclopedic knowledge of fabric, most of my designs would have never seen the light of day.” He patted Yuuri’s back before continuing his massage. “You’re the backbone of this partnership, and I think you deserve better. I want Euphoria Katsuki to be a name people recognize. I want skaters to wear our costumes and have the whole audience know who made it, just by looking at it. We can do it.”

“Actually, about the name… I’ve been thinking about changing it. Since—since I don’t really want it to be all about me.”

“I _love_ that name, though,” Phichit said earnestly. “Ever since you told me how you named it to parallel your parent’s business, I knew it meant a lot to you. Besides, you have too much of a following to give it up now.”

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked. “Because I wouldn’t mind changing it to something we came up with together.”

“I’m sure,” Phichit said. He got up, and Yuuri turned onto his back to face him. “You could have hired any designer and still be as strong as you are now. I’m trying to earn my keep by making your life a little easier.”

Yuuri reached up and took his hands, urging him back down. With a smile Phichit climbed back onto the couch, planting his knees between Yuuri’s legs. “What are you talking about? You do more than earn your keep. Your designs are amazing. And thanks to you I can actually take a day off here and there.”

“You don’t take nearly enough,” Phichit whined, falling forward and resting his head on Yuuri’s chest. “I hope my idea works.”

“Don’t worry too much if it doesn’t; we’ll be alright,” Yuuri assured him with a hug. “But for what it’s worth, I want it to work, too. You have a far clearer vision of the future than I could ever manage. Most of the time I just kept doing the same thing over and over, hardly ever thinking of how things could, or should, change. Since you joined with me I actually see the beauty of the things we create, rather than just the pattern and fabric choices. You have eyes like no one I’d ever met, and I’m grateful to have you.” The rambling words catching up to him, Yuuri flushed from embarrassment. “I guess what I’m saying is—I trust you. I’ll follow your lead and support you.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Phichit cried, pressing his face into Yuuri’s chest. “You indulge me too much. I really hope I don’t screw everything up.”

“You won’t,” Yuuri assured him. “Can’t be any worse than what happened to Esteva’s costume.”

Phichit lifted his head. “I told you, that wasn’t your—”

Yuuri interrupted him with a kiss—gentle, tentative, more a question than a demand. Phichit answered with a soft moan in the back of his throat, parting his lips in an invitation that Yuuri slowly took by sliding his tongue along Phichit’s in a careful, almost calculated dance.

Phichit drew back, regarding Yuuri with a heavy-lidded gaze. “Admit it, you liked the costume.”

“I admit nothing,” Yuuri said in a low, breathy voice.

“You liked getting in those poses,” Phichit said accusingly, his tone lowering to match Yuuri’s. “You love the camera almost as much as it loves you. It turns you on to know that others will see you like that.”

Yuuri’s hands slid down Phichit’s back, cupping his ass suggestively. “The only thing turning me on right now is having you on top of me.” He knew it wasn’t the whole answer, but he didn’t want to give Phichit the satisfaction of knowing that a part of Yuuri _had_ enjoyed posing for him. When Phichit dressed him up, fixed his hair, took off his glasses and put him in dramatic makeup, Yuuri felt transformed. He felt not quite like himself, but not entirely like another person, either—it was a different side of him that he barely communicated with, rarely thought about, and never spoke of. It was the side of him Phichit seemed determined to draw out of him, whether on purpose or not.

The side of him that made his insides growl with pleasure as Phichit gifted him with a tongue-filled kiss.

Sex wasn’t a regular part of their life—Yuuri was usually too exhausted to do much more than masturbate, and Phichit rarely initiated anything more intimate than kisses—but when it happened, it was often a beautiful orchestra of sweet pleasure and dirty indulgences. Phichit loved to be handled, which allowed Yuuri to take control over something in a way he rarely felt he could in his day-to-day life. It scratched an itch deep inside him, one that he often ignored because of work.

“Nnn, Yuuri?” Phicht’s lips were pressing against Yuuri’s jawline.

“Hm?”

“Do we have any condoms?”

Yuuri hadn’t the slightest idea, considering that was something Phichit usually took care of, but he knew Phichit was asking for a different reason. It was his coy way of seeing if Yuuri wanted to fuck. If Yuuri didn’t want to, he could say he didn’t think they had any without making it awkward, and if he did…

“Why don’t you check?”

Phichit’s lips stretched into a grin, and he gave one more nuzzle and kiss to Yuuri’s neck before getting up. While Phichit dug through their bathroom cabinets, Yuuri got up and stretched, noting how much better his back felt after Phichit’s massage. Phichit really deserved more than what Yuuri gave him.

Phichit came back with a condom and lube bottle, and tossed them carelessly on their bed before giving Yuuri another long, tongue-filled kiss. While Yuuri processed the fresh surge of arousal, Phichit moved his lips down to Yuuri’s neck, which was easier for him to reach. “I was hoping we could do this, after the show you put on for me today,” he murmured against his skin, the flutter of his lips making Yuuri shudder. “Sometimes, you drive me absolutely crazy.”

Yuuri was never great at coming up with sexy things to say, so he often expressed himself in actions. Yuuri grasped the hem of Phichit’s shirt, and pushed him back far enough to forcibly remove it and toss it aside. Before Yuuri could step forward and put his hands on Phichit’s warm skin, Phichit stopped him with a hand. He plucked the bridge of Yuuri’s glasses, removing them with a teasing look, and put them in a safe place before returning to Yuuri’s arms. “Always forgetful.”

Yuuri responded by attacking Phichit’s neck, gently biting that sensitive collarbone, loving the way Phichit gasped in response. Before long he gripped Phichit’s tiny waist and practically threw him onto the bed, Phichit unresisting as he squealed with delight. Phichit rolled onto his stomach, and Yuuri reached for the waistband of his joggers, removing them with almost enough force to rip them. Phichit slid his knees under him, lifting his hips and displaying his beautiful, round ass, clad in a pair of bright blue boxer briefs. Yuuri felt the sudden urge to bite it, and didn’t hold himself back for long, Phichit yelping in surprise.

“You really _are_ turned-on,” Phichit said with a touch of awe.

Yuuri didn’t dignify that statement with a response, because of _course_ he was turned-on. Phichit was a beautiful man, eager and willing and so openly responsive to everything Yuuri did. Yuuri didn’t have any past sexual experience to speak of, but thanks to Phichit he could at least articulate that he thoroughly enjoyed a partner that was both submissive and vocal about it. He liked the constant reassurance that he was doing something his partner liked, especially if it was an act that could be perceived as selfish, like pressing his still-clothed erection along the cleft of Phichit’s ass.

“Mmn,” Phichit groaned. “I need more, Yuuri.”

More what, Yuuri didn’t know, but he took a guess anyway. He reached underneath and gave Phichit’s bulge a hard squeeze before deciding that he himself needed more, too. He backed away and pushed Phichit over onto his side, then tore off his partner’s underwear. Phichit grinned and turned onto his back, spreading his legs in an open invitation that Yuuri was eager to take. Yuuri shed his shirt and jeans before using his mouth on that pulsing, beckoning cock.

It was a good thing that they lived alone, because Phichit’s voice echoed wildly throughout their cavernous apartment. Phichit never held back, and Yuuri honestly loved that about him—it was as important to his personality as his eye for beauty. Phichit always, _always_ spoke his mind, and his openness had helped Yuuri become more open as well, at least with him. Yuuri reasoned that Phichit’s indulgent reactions during sex were just an extension of that openness.

Yuuri kept his mouth near Phichit’s crotch as he shifted off to the side, putting his arm at a better angle to slide his fingers along Phichit’s hole. His partner gasped at the contact, and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile to himself. Why didn’t they do this more often? Phichit was so much fun.

With his mouth still around Phichit’s cock Yuuri worked him open, making good use of the handy lube. It wasn’t long before Phichit’s moans turned to wanting sobs.

“Please, Yuuri. Nn… P-please.”

Yuuri didn’t need much more encouragement than that. But since he was indulging, he got up, freed his dick from its underwear prison, and put it within range of Phichit’s soft, gorgeous mouth.

“I suppose I can’t have everything for free,” Phichit resigned with a teasing smile, and lifted his head to give Yuuri’s weeping cock a tentative lick. Yuuri couldn’t hold back a shudder, then a groan as Phichit slid his lips down half the length of Yuuri’s shaft, as far as the awkward angle allowed. Phichit worked diligently as his hand felt around for the condom, long fingers enclosing around the foil wrapper with a distinct crinkle that Yuuri associated solely with sex. He had a strange affinity for that sound.

Phichit pulled back, reverently slipped the condom onto Yuuri’s pulsing member, and looked up with wide, anticipatory eyes. “How do you want me this time?”

He always let Yuuri choose. Phichit claimed he liked it best when Yuuri got exactly what he wanted, so this time Yuuri didn’t hesitate to slide backwards and position himself between Phichit’s legs. “Just as you are,” he said. “I want to see you.”

Even through his dark skin Yuuri could see Phichit’s flush. Phichit swallowed and nodded and lifted his legs obediently as Yuuri applied generous amounts of lube to his erection. For good measure he worked a bit more into Phichit’s eager hole, and after just a brief moment of positioning, pushed inside.

Phichit immediately cried out, and it was just sharp enough to make Yuuri hesitate, unsure if it was in pain or pleasure. Phichit’s breathing turned deliberate, in and out at regular, deep intervals.

“We don’t do this enough,” Phichit said, now clearly wincing. “I’m okay, though. Can we work a better angle? Maybe slide a pillow down there?”

Without breaking their connection, Yuuri reached over and snatched one of the pillows, then squished it under Phichit’s lower back. “Better?”

Phichit nodded. “Try moving.”

Slowly Yuuri worked himself into a rhythm, for a while paying far more attention to Phichit’s reactions than his own pleasure. But as Phichit’s sounds became more enthusiastic, Yuuri lost some of that careful control. He lost more when Phichit wrapped his limbs around Yuuri, pulling him down until Yuuri could feel the heat off of Phichit’s scorching torso. He bent down to kiss Phichit’s open mouth and drove into him earnestly, every thrust cresting higher and throwing him closer to climax.

When Yuuri couldn’t hold onto himself any longer, his orgasm shuddered through him, then crashed out in deep, powerful waves that made his vision go dim. When he came down enough to look at Phichit again, he saw the man rapidly jerking himself, moaning and panting in his attempt to catch up. Yuuri carefully pulled out, pushed his partner’s hand aside, and gave Phichit a rapid, furious blowjob that didn’t take long to finish him. Yuuri couldn’t claim to have much talent in that particular area, but Phichit had been close enough that it didn’t matter.

While Phichit recovered, Yuuri got up to clean up in the bathroom. As great as the sex had been, his mind was already on his next task, planning his next workday. It was actually early enough that he could get started tonight.

Yuuri picked up his underwear from the floor and shook it out.

“What are you doing?” Phichit asked tiredly.

“I’m going to start drafting the pattern for the Walton piece,” he said.

“You’re working? Now?” Phichit’s voice cracked with disbelief. “Yuuri…”

“I won’t be down there all night,” Yuuri assured him. He slid his shirt over his head, and went over to kiss Phichit on the forehead. “Don’t worry—you can stay up here and relax.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Phichit muttered, turning away.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Phichit said. He let out a heavy sigh. “Just go.”

Yuuri didn’t really know what had Phichit so upset, but he really wasn’t in the mood for an argument. He grabbed his glasses from the table and went downstairs. While he waited for the industrial lights to warm up, he sat down at his drafting table, studying Phichit’s sketches. This one was for a male ice dancer, the bold, straight lines emphasizing a distinctly masculine shape, the design simple but regal. Yuuri had let Phichit choose the fabric under his guidance, and while the brocade details were a little unconventional, Yuuri had approved his partner’s choices. He was excited to see what it would look like finished.

Yuuri was just starting to modify his existing military-style jacket pattern to fit the ice dancer’s measurements when he heard the door open, and Phichit came over smelling like a shower and dressed in pajamas.

“I brought you some tea,” Phichit said, setting down a steaming mug on a nearby table.

“Oh, thank you,” Yuuri said, too concentrated on finishing his line to more than glance up.

“It’s lonely up there without you, so I thought I might as well come down here,” Phichit said, his voice quiet. “Since you seem intent on working your old hours again.”

“I’m just trying to make up for the lost day,” Yuuri said. “You don’t have to stay down here, though—this is just boring pattern work. Didn’t you have a show you wanted to binge watch?”

Phichit didn’t respond, but Yuuri hardly paid attention, as his mind was filled with numbers and lines and planning ahead to what he needed to do next.

Finally, the silence became oppressive enough for Yuuri to look up. Phichit was staring at the drafting table, eyes distant and unfocused.

“Phichit?”

“You know, if you really believed in my vision, you wouldn’t have called today a ‘lost day,’” Phichit said, not looking at Yuuri.

“That’s not—you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Yuuri said, dropping his pencil and going to his partner. “I just wanted to get ahead on this costume, since we’ll get paid for it when it’s done, and—”

“You don’t think my idea is a good investment,” Phichit said, glaring at Yuuri, his eyes glassy with tears. “You’re working harder because you’re afraid the time we spend on my project won’t be worth it.”

“No, Phichit…” Yuuri put his arms around him, alarmed at how stiff Phichit kept himself. Yuuri wasn’t deterred, however, and squeezed gently. “You want to know the truth? The real, secret truth that I’m usually too embarrassed to admit?”

Phichit didn’t move. Yuuri pulled away to look at him.

“The truth is… I’m excited. I love doing this. I love looking at your designs and turning them into full costumes. I work best on this part when my mind is relaxed, so I thought it might be good to work on it tonight.”

“Why do you never want to be around me after sex?”

“Wh-what?” Yuuri stepped back, cold dread sinking into the pit of his stomach. “Phichit, that’s—I don’t—” He closed his mouth to think for a second. “Is this something I do?”

“ _Always,_ ” Phichit said. “You never want to cuddle after we fuck. I always feel so… used.”

“Phichit…” Yuuri put his arms around him again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—no, I’m sorry. I don’t have an excuse. My mind always moves on, and I don’t stop and think about how you feel.”

It was a long, painful moment before Phichit reluctantly lifted his arms and returned Yuuri’s embrace. “You’re hopeless, Yuuri.”

“I know.”

Phichit gave Yuuri a brief squeeze, then released him. “I’m not sure how you can do everything we did today and still have the energy for something like this, though.” He gestured to the pattern table. “Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Like I said—my mind is relaxed,” Yuuri said, sipping the tea that Phichit brought. “I’m less likely to get frustrated and stressed doing tedious things like this.”

“I’m worried about you working so hard, though,” Phichit said.

Yuuri looked down at his pencil lines. “This is the only work I’ve done today.”

Phichit stiffened. “You _really_ think my photos are worthless, don’t you?”

Yuuri cringed. “No, no, not at all! I meant…” He felt his cheeks flush. “I meant modeling for you doesn’t feel like work to me. Maybe if I had to do it every day it would, but I—I thought it was fun.” He grimaced. “I thought you’d guessed already, how much I actually like it.”

Phichit shook his head ruefully. “To be honest, Yuuri, trying to figure out how you feel about things is something I don’t think I’ll ever be great at.” There was a hint of affection among the heavy exasperation. “I can make guesses all day, but until you tell me what’s going on in that eccentric brain of yours, I’ll never know for sure.”

Yuuri clutched his tea mug, feeling ashamed at himself. He was barely suited to be Phichit’s business partner, much less his friend or lover. Yuuri had never been good at detecting and navigating around others’ feelings, which was probably why he’d never been with anyone before Phichit. And Phichit was only here because circumstances forced him to be.

Warm arms encircled Yuuri’s waist. “Don’t cry, Yuuri.”

Yuuri furiously wiped away the tears. “I’m not.” His voice was betraying him almost as much as his eyes.

“Shh.” Phichit pressed his nose to Yuuri’s neck. “Come back upstairs.”

“I need to finish—”

Phichit covered Yuuri’s mouth. “You’ll regret it if you cry on your paper. Come on.”

Yuuri let himself be led back upstairs, a familiar feeling that actually comforted him a little. Phichit was always looking after him, taking care of him—no one forced him to do that.

“I’m sorry I got upset,” Phichit said as they walked up the narrow staircase. “I know what you’re like and I just…” He stopped, shaking his head. “I forgot that you’re not like most people.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a jackass,” Yuuri said miserably.

“That’s not what I mean, Yuuri. I mean that I should know you better than that. I should know that you don’t do the things you do because you’re trying to shut me out, or use me, or hate me.”

Yuuri turned to him with wide eyes. “You actually thought those things?”

Phichit grabbed Yuuri’s arm and urged him into their apartment. “The mind can do awful things when you sit alone in silence.”

“But Phichit, I—”

“Shh,” he shushed again. “Go sit down with your tea. I’m getting my own, and we’re going to talk.”

Yuuri did as he was told, falling into the couch and setting his mug on top of their coffee table. It was littered with big glossy photobooks showcasing high fashion, historical fashion, and artwork from Phichit’s favorite artists. Each one had little tabs sticking out of the sides, which Phichit would leave when something inspired him. Navigating to one of those tabs would uncover a handful of sticky notes with phrases like “interesting fabric,” “gorgeous neck line,” “note seam placement,” “good lines,” and so on. Yuuri wasn’t the worst when it came to design work—he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he did otherwise—but Phichit took it all to a completely different level. He was always keeping his eyes open for inspiration, always sketching out ideas.

Phichit came and sat beside him, mug of tea in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri blurted. He wasn’t sure if it was the right way to go about it, but he wanted to make that much clear.

“You shouldn’t apologize, Yuuri,” Phichit said gently. “I was the one who got all the wrong ideas. Though sometimes I wish I could crack open that skull of yours and see inside, just to reassure myself.”

“I—I should tell you more. I should pay more attention.”

“Or maybe I should stop expecting it,” Phichit said, almost distantly.

“Phichit—no. I can—I can do better.”

Phichit shook his head. “Don’t force yourself.”

“You deserve better,” Yuuri insisted. “You deserve everything.”

Phichit blinked, his eyes turning glassy again. “So do you, Yuuri. I’ve tried to make you realize that for so long, yet you continue to insist you’re not good enough. And I’m sure what I said tonight didn’t help at all. I’m sorry.”

“Phichit…” Yuuri reached out, but didn’t quite know what to aim for. Phichit’s hands were occupied, so Yuuri brushed his knuckles against Phichit’s cheek instead. “If you’re thinking that I hate you, or just want to use you, I _need_ to know you feel that way. It means I’m absolutely doing something wrong, and I should aim to fix it. Granted I’m not entirely sure I’ll know how, but if nothing else, I’ll be more considerate.”

“Don’t feel like you have to change for me,” Phichit said. “I just got too lost in my head.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile weakly. “If anyone knows about spiraling thoughts, it’s me. You had every right to confront me about it.”

“I don’t want to emotionally devastate you any time I get a little moody,” Phichit said.

“You’re fine,” Yuuri assured him. “I was a little cold after we had sex, I realize that now. While I was cleaning up my mind already jumped to the next thing. I should have stayed up here for a while longer.”

“You’re so hard to be mad at, Yuuri,” Phichit said, almost pouting. He put down his mug of tea and scooted closer, leaning into Yuuri.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” Yuuri said helplessly.

“Well good for you, because it seems I’m incapable.” He snuggled closer, tucking his head under Yuuri’s chin. “You’re mine for the rest of the night, though. No more working until after ten in the morning.”

“I think I can handle that,” Yuuri said, sighing inwardly with relief. “What’s your schedule tomorrow?”

“Editing photos all day probably. Why?”

Yuuri hesitated to say it, but he knew it needed to happen. He had to make up for this somehow. “Let me take you to lunch somewhere. I just realized I don’t know your favorite place.”

Phichit straightened, looking at Yuuri with severe disbelief. “Am I hearing that right? Yuuri Katsuki wants to _go out?_ As in, _out of this apartment?_ With _me?_ ”

Yuuri pushed him playfully. “Stop. I’m not that bad.”

“I better go mark my calendar,” Phichit said, getting up and going to his workspace. “I’ll want to remember this day for the rest of my life.”

“Shut up.”

Phichit had actually grabbed a pen, and was writing something down on the big calendar he kept on his desk. He slammed his pen down with a dramatic clack. “There. Now I won’t forget.” He winked at Yuuri, and went back to the couch.

As soon as Phichit was in range, Yuuri grabbed him by the middle and pulled him down, fingers digging into Phichit’s sensitive sides, making the man giggle and scream.

“Yuuri! What are you—” Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by intense laughter, his squeals echoing off the walls as Yuuri’s fingers roamed all over Phichit’s torso, eventually making it to his ultimate weak point—the armpits. Phichit flailed aimlessly, completely helpless against Yuuri’s onslaught.

“Okay, okay, stop, stop,” Phichit gasped. Yuuri let him go reluctantly. Phichit caught his breath and wiped at his eyes. “I deserved that.”

“You did.”

Phichit took a drink from his tea, then cuddled up with Yuuri once more. “But we really don’t go out often enough. It’s a rare treat.”

Yuuri put his arm around his partner, shifting to make them both more comfortable. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Phichit shook his head, giving Yuuri a brilliant smile. “I’m not upset. Just happy we’re going out tomorrow.”

If there happened to be better motivation to go out with Phichit, Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d ever need it.

* * *

 

“Phichit, what exactly is this?” Yuuri had emptied their mailbox, finding a thick envelope addressed to Euphoria Katsuki inside. He’d opened it on his way up the stairs, but stopped in his tracks in the middle of the kitchen when he saw what it was.

“Oh, did the proof come already? That was fast!” Phichit got up from his chair and raced over, snatching the booklet from Yuuri’s hands.

“Why—why am I on the cover?”

“Because I put you there.” Phichit flipped through the pages quickly, then started over more slowly. Yuuri couldn’t stop staring at the photo on the cover. It was him in profile, his spine arched and his head thrown back, his black-clad arm dangling a bright red cherry over his slightly parted lips. Yuuri might’ve thought it was an artful photo if it happened to be anyone but himself. As it was, he felt an extreme surge of embarrassment.

“Ah, already found a typo,” Phichit said, sounding disappointed in himself. “But the colors all look good. I might pull back the margins a little on some of these photos…” He wandered thoughtfully over to his desk, and began taking notes.

“What—what is your plan for this catalog?” Yuuri asked, afraid of the answer.

“I’m going to send it to our old clients, as well as a list of active skaters, both professional and competing. I’m pulling all the strings I can to get their contact info, though some of the top ones are really difficult to find. I’ve had to make do with their coaches instead.”

“Some are popular enough that they don’t want to get harassed,” Yuuri said. “But—but you’re really sending it to _everyone?_ With that photo on the cover?”

“It’s pretty provocative, isn’t it?” Phichit asked, flipping back to the front. He grinned up at Yuuri. “They won’t be able to ignore it.”

Later that night, when Phichit had gone out with some of his friends, Yuuri finally got a moment to really look at the catalog Phichit had created. It was only a dozen pages, printed on glossy paper, and the interior featured some photos of the costumes they’d been commissioned to do, as well as a few of the ones that no one had asked for but themselves—the designs that Phichit and Yuuri had most wanted to see realized. There were even several close-up shots of some of the more intricate sequin patterns they’d worked on, including an elaborate design of silver and gold that Yuuri had been particularly proud of. The catalog advertised personal, quality service, everything made to the customer’s exact specifications.

The last page before the back cover showed a photo from the photoshoot Yuuri had done for Phichit months ago, modeling one of the first costumes they’d made together. By comparison it was a little more conventional than the more recent photoshoot, but Phichit loved to use transparent fabric, and this photo was of the see-through panel on the back with an intricate pattern of colorful stones. It was, if nothing else, a familiar photo to Yuuri, as it was prominently displayed on their website.

But the cover… Yuuri wasn’t sure he was entirely comfortable with that cover being seen by possibly hundreds of skaters. Of course no one knew him, no one would recognize him even if they saw him in person, but the chill of exposure made him shudder. It was one thing to pose for Phichit in the studio, but to have this photo seen by so many people…

Yuuri shook his head. He needed to suck it up. Phichit worked hard on this, and Yuuri trusted him. More importantly he trusted his eye, and the photo _was_ eye-catching. It would be hard to ignore. If Yuuri stared at it and pretended for a moment that it _wasn’t_ him, he’d think the photo was rather tasteful. Sensual. Somehow even graceful, though Yuuri hadn’t felt graceful for over a decade.

Yuuri decided it wouldn’t be worth expressing his embarrassment over. If Phichit thought it truly bothered him, he’d definitely change it, but Yuuri didn’t want him to go through the trouble. In fact, the more he stared at the cover photo, the more he wished he could show it to someone who _did_ know him, just to see their reaction. He’d probably die of mortification, but it would be funny to listen to his very kind, very Japanese family try their hardest to come up with something to say about it.

In the end, Yuuri scribbled a few notes with his thoughts on the layout and company information, and gave a few comments to drive home his support of this endeavor. _It’s kind of a shame your new costume only has one photo,_ he added at the end. _Maybe squeeze in one more from the photoshoot somewhere?_

With that done, Yuuri put the proof along with his notes back on Phichit’s desk, turned off the lights, and went to bed. He’d only worked half the day, putting the finishing touches on an exhibition dress he’d particularly enjoyed working on. He couldn’t muster the energy to start the next project, so he’d spent his afternoon cleaning some of the neglected corners of their apartment.

Phichit had invited him out that night, but Yuuri didn’t do great with socializing. Phichit’s friends were friendly enough, but the thought of spending a Saturday evening in the quiet just seemed more appealing, and Phichit didn’t push it. He never did. But for just a brief moment, as Yuuri lay in bed, he let himself feel a little lonely. He didn’t wish he was out a club, or drinking at one of Phichit’s friends’ apartments—rather, he wished Phichit were there to tell him about his night before he fell asleep. Yuuri considered finding some way to wait up for him, but as soon as he closed his eyes in the dark apartment, he couldn’t fight sleep for long.


	4. Chapter 4

“Tch. What are you doing here?”

“Obviously I’m here just to see your smile,” Victor teased. “Where’s Yakov?”

Yuri threw open the door and stalked away, his way of inviting Victor inside. “Dunno. Probably in his office.” He turned down the hallway, and Victor heard the distinct thud of a bedroom door closing.

Victor closed the front door and went to Yakov’s office, finding his coach on his laptop, playing what appeared to be online poker.

“What?” Yakov growled. “It’s my day off.”

“I need to talk to you,” Victor said, glancing at the screen. “If you can… spare a minute.”

Yakov grumbled as he folded, then shut his laptop. “Wasn’t going to win anyway. What’s wrong, Vitya?” He gestured to the empty chair.

Victor sat obediently. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“You wouldn’t come here to bother me on my day off otherwise. You’re a lot of things, Vitya, but rude is not often one of them. So what is it?”

Victor was touched by the slight praise. “I need your help with something. And I need to say something important.”

Yakov leaned back in his chair with a long exhale. “You’re retiring.”

“How’d you know?” Victor wasn’t surprised, but more curious as to what gave him away.

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first skater I’ve seen decide to retire the moment they turned thirty,” Yakov said. “But from what I know about you, I’ve been expecting it a while now. You’re getting tired. You’re thinking more about life after competitions. You’re conceding more to Yuri.”

Victor shrugged. “Well, he’s our future. It makes sense to throw more of our resources behind someone who has a real chance at winning international competitions.”

“And that,” Yakov said, pointing a finger at Victor, “that right there tells me more than anything else. You’re losing your competitiveness.”

Victor couldn’t argue, because it was ultimately true. He just hated how it sounded like he was giving up. “Anyway, I’m planning to go out with a bang. I need—”

“Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Why would you think I’d do something stupid?”

“Intuition,” Yakov said simply. “Go on, then. What do you need from me?”

“Right now, a costume.”

“You know the number for Primakov’s, call them yourself.”

Victor shook his head. “Not Primakov’s. I’ve used them a dozen times before.”

“Because they’re the best.”

“Because we know them and they give us a discount,” Victor corrected. “But they’re too conventional. I need something a little more… unique. Do you have a list?”

“I’ve got a pile of catalogs and a list of websites,” Yakov said, reaching across his desk to dig in a stack of mail. He casually looked through it and handed it to Victor. “There was one more, though, that just arrived. Where did it go…?” He looked around his office and seemed to conclude that it wasn’t there. “Yurotchka!”

It was a moment before Victor heard the distant “What?” in response.

“I’m not going to yell across the house,” Yakov muttered. Eventually a door opened, and Yuri stomped down the hallway.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“Where’s that costume catalog we got in the mail yesterday?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Language,” Yakov warned. “I saw you with it yesterday. Where’d you leave it?”

For some reason, Yuri turned bright red up to his ears, and swung around to go off somewhere. A moment later he came back with a catalog in his hands, and reluctantly handed it over.

“When’s Altin getting here?” Yakov asked, casually tossing the catalog on top of the pile.

“Any minute now,” Yuri said, looking at his phone. “He got into town half an hour ago.”

Well, that explained why Yuri had answered the door, and was less than happy with Victor’s arrival.

Victor stood, ready to get back to work. “Thanks for these, Yakov. I’ll keep you posted on what I decide.”

“Wait, Vitya. I have more to say to you about your retirement.”

“Later,” Victor promised, and left. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, or to talk about nebulous things like what he planned to do with himself after the competitive season was over. Right now, he could only look at the problem right in front of his face.

“So the old man’s finally giving up.” Yuri had followed him outside. “Wondered when it would happen.”

“Glad I could do something to make you happy,” Victor said, trying not to let his annoyance show. Normally he tolerated Yuri’s rudeness, but he honestly wasn’t in the mood for it right now.

“It’ll be nice to have less clutter on the ice. I would say less clutter on the podium, too, but you haven’t been up there in two years.”

Victor seethed. “Oh, fuck off you little shit. Enjoy your time in the spotlight. Hope it’s kinder to you than it was to me.”

Yuri grinned like a satisfied cat.

“You going to kiss your boyfriend with all that shit in your mouth?”

Yuri’s smile fell into a horrified gape. “He’s not—we’re not—”

Victor laughed, and tugged on Yuri’s ponytail. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Yakov. Nor will I mention that you were definitely masturbating to the guy on this catalog.”

“I wasn’t!” Yuri cried, his voice cracking as he wrenched away. “Fuck you!”

Victor winked. “I’ll bring it back when I’m done, don’t worry.”

“I fucking hate you,” Yuri said, boiling with fury. “I’ll be so glad when you’re gone for good and I never have to see your ugly face again.”

“Still have one more season, kitten,” Victor said, getting into his car and tossing the catalogs on the passenger seat. “And don’t worry, it’s going to be a good one.” He turned on the car and pulled out of the long driveway before he could say anything else he might regret.

He had calmed down a little by the time he got back to his apartment, but not enough.

Chris was there, waiting for him with open arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I just briefly turned into someone I really don’t like,” Victor said, pressing his face into Chris’s shoulder. “I hate this.”

“You’ve been so tense lately,” Chris said. “Usually you’re as relaxed as a full dog when we have our visits.”

His deep voice speaking soft French was soothing in a way Victor could never really describe. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff.”

Chris squeezed Victor tightly and walked them over to the sofa to sit. “You’ve made the decision to give up the only thing you’ve known for most of your life. Of course it’s terrifying. Most of the people and things in your life you only know because of skating. You never really tried to cultivate a life outside of it, and it’s biting you in the ass.”

“I haven’t even gotten that far yet,” Victor said, pulling away. “This is just…” He tossed the catalogs of costume makers onto the coffee table. “I’m having to confront the fact that I have no idea who I am or who I want to be.”

Chris whistled, picking up one of the catalogs from on top. It was the one Yuri had been stashing. “What’s this? I haven’t heard of this maker before.” He flipped through the contents with a smile on his face.

Victor had to admit, the cover did stand out among all the others, which featured either figure skaters in costume or artful arrangements of fabric. This one had a slender Asian man on the cover, wearing a skintight black suit covered in silvery stones that glittered in star patterns along his side. His left arm, covered in a fishnet material, was hugging his middle, while his right arm, clad entirely in the silky black, dangled a cherry above his mouth, the barest amount of tongue sticking out of his red lips. He didn’t look like a skater, or if he was, it was one Victor didn’t recognize.

“They have some really interesting designs,” Chris said, showing Victor one of the pages. “This one here—look at that. I would wear that.”

It was a set of silky purple pants and a lacey shirt, the design eccentric without being too over the top. “You’re the only one, I think. But I bet you’d look good in it.”

“I look good in everything,” Chris said, flipping the page. “Wow. How have I not seen these before? They’re gorgeous.”

“Where are they from?”

“Japan, I think,” Chris said, flipping to the back cover. “No, wait—America. Katsuki is a Japanese name, though.”

“I wonder if they’re new,” Victor mused dully. He wasn’t really all that interested, trying not to pout that Chris’s attention had been stolen by a sexy man on the cover of a catalog.

“Says here they’ve been in business for three years. I guess that’s pretty new. Not much time to make a name for themselves, but if this is what they’ve done so far, it’s pretty impressive.” Chris thrust the catalog into Victor’s face. “Stop pouting and look. You’re never going to find inspiration if you just keep feeling sorry for yourself.”

Victor looked, though made a point to look as begrudging as possible while he did it. He couldn’t hold onto the expression long, though, as something had caught his eye on the third page. “Who is this, Chris? Do you know?”

“No. I don’t think he’s a skater. At least, he’s not built like one. Probably some model they hired.”

The mysterious man’s dark gaze had Victor captivated. He wore the same costume as the front cover, but this photo had him in a reaching pose, beckoning. _Come to me_ , it said. Victor was filled with the absurd desire to do just that.

“Maybe I’ll look into this company,” Victor said distantly, already planning a trip to America in his head. He shook his head. Why was he already thinking four steps ahead?

“If you’re inspired, it’s worth looking into,” Chris said, picking up another catalog. He glanced at it, and promptly dropped it back on the table in disgust. “Not them. They made that hideous thing Seung-gil Lee wore two seasons ago.”

“Oh. Gross.” Victor’s eyes kept snapping back to the man on the page. He wouldn’t go so far as to say the model was _remarkably_ sexy, but there was something about him, some quality that drew him in. He looked like a man who could wield a sharp tongue if he needed to. When he finally forced his eyes to focus on the costumes, he found he actually liked their slightly eccentric style. There was a definite uniqueness to their designs, and they were created with a good eye for aesthetic beauty. “I love this one,” Victor found himself saying, pointing out a silver and gold military jacket.

“That one’s very you,” Chris said. “Well, almost. I think it needs more of that trim, and maybe a color other than gold. But I could see you in something like that, definitely.”

The prince aesthetic was one he’d used when he was younger, and while he’d spent his career trying to avoid doing the same thing twice, he’d always felt drawn to the style. Something about being the shining beacon of hope for the lonely princess—or prince, in his case—was always appealing to him. It was slightly at odds with his bedroom desires, where _he_ wanted to be the one swept off his feet, but he liked the idea of being the romantic hero. The romantic hero who secretly wanted his partner to drag him through the mud.

Victor shook his head. He was too messed up to put this to any sort of coherent program.

“Putting aside costumes for a moment,” Chris said. “Did you ever decide on your music?”

“I’m commissioning a piece from an old friend for my Short Program,” Victor declared. “As for the other one, I don’t know. I have a few ideas, but nothing that’s stuck yet.”

“There’s not a song you’ve always wanted to do, but Yakov wouldn’t let you?”

Victor hadn’t thought about it from that perspective. “I usually got my way with Yakov. But I guess I rarely started an argument that I couldn’t win, so I didn’t push very hard on some things. It will take some thinking about.”

“You know I’m going back in the morning.”

“I know,” Victor sighed. “I was trying to forget about it for a few hours.”

Chris leaned in close, his wine-scented breath hot on Victor’s neck. “Well, you know what would help with that…”

The tingle on his skin rippled out, Chris’s words going straight to Victor’s groin. “I guess I’ll abandon this for a little while.” It hurt to do, though. The only pull of inspiration he’d found all week was that photo, and it wasn’t even the sort of inspiration Victor needed. Chris was merely distracting him, helping fight the building tension, but Victor was unsure that sex even worked on that front anymore. Usually one encounter every few months was enough to tame the growling beast inside him, but after a week of steady sex, he was slowly coming to terms with the idea that he had problems that sex could no longer ease.

* * *

 

“I’ll miss this apartment,” Chris said, staring out the window with a cigarette draped in his fingers.

“Why miss it?” Victor asked tiredly. His throat was raw from screaming. “I’m not moving any time soon.”

“I think you and I both know things are changing. With your retirement, mine won’t be far behind. I might squeeze out one more season, just so I don’t have to share a spotlight with you, but I could just as easily decide in the off-season I don’t have the energy, and go out quietly.”

“You? Go out quietly?” Victor laughed shortly. “I don’t think you’re capable.”

“I’m more capable of it now than I was a few years ago,” Chris said distantly. “I don’t care much about it anymore. I don’t get as much of a thrill out of performing as I used to. I just kept going because it was fun to compete with you and actually win, for once. Without you there, I’d just be an old guy on skates, everyone speculating on when I’d join you.”

“I still don’t know why that means you won’t come back here.”

“Come this time next year, I think we’ll be in very different places,” Chris said. “Just a feeling I have. Even if you’re still here, there’s no guarantee I’ll be invited back.”

For all that Victor wanted to argue, he had the sinking feeling that Chris was right. Whatever they had between them, it wouldn’t be the same after Victor retired. Instead, he voiced something that had been on his mind since he’d come down from his orgasm. “I think I’m about to do something crazy and stupid.”

Chris took a drag on his cigarette, still staring out the window. “I felt that, too. You got a wild look in your eye when you looked at that catalog. Are you going to chase the Boy in Black?”

“Nothing that crazy,” Victor said. “I’m going there to commission a costume.”

“And if he happens to be there?”

“I might ask for his number,” Victor conceded. “I’m insane, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely.” Chris exhaled dramatically. “But you’re not going to get shit from me for it. You’ve spent your life bending backwards to stay within the lines of what’s acceptable. Do something really crazy, for once in your life. You might get your heart broken in the process, but I think it would hurt you more if you never tried.”

“But I don’t know anything about him,” Victor said. “His name, what he does, who he’s with… All I have is that photo.”

“That photo that you were no-doubt picturing while I fucked you just now,” Chris teased.

“Well, yeah.”

Chris laughed and put out his cigarette. “Do some research. Check out models in that area, ask the company who they used. Make a fool out of yourself looking for this guy. And whatever you do, keep me posted, because I’m dying to see how this turns out.”

Victor threw his head back with a groan. “You’re making fun of me.”

Chris came over and ran a finger along Victor’s throat, tracing along his jaw and lips. “I’m worried about you, but more importantly, I want to see you happy.” He poked Victor’s nose. “If your little dog nose is sending you in the direction of the man in that photo, I say follow it. Worst case is he’s not interested, or taken, or isn’t what he seems. But since you have another reason to go there, it won’t hurt to look.”

Victor sighed. “You’re such an enabler, Christophe.”

“Why do you think we’ve put up with each other for so long?”

Chris left the following morning, parting with a kiss and encouraging words. Victor really did love him, despite knowing that they could never be more than what they were. He only wished that Chris’s visit had been more productive, because, like Chris had said, it felt like it might’ve been one of the last ones. Victor didn’t know if he could continue asking for Chris’s help if things were turning serious with that choreographer of his.

Victor opened his laptop and pulled up the website for Euphoria Katsuki. It wasn’t the most professional site he’d seen, but it was easy enough to navigate to their gallery, which offered bright photos of many costumes, including some that Victor swore he recognized but couldn’t place. When he navigated to other parts of the website, like the About page, he found more photos of the man from the catalog, this time wearing a different costume. Victor had seen that costume in the catalog, but didn’t realize it was the same person, as the photo only showed his well-decorated back.

Nowhere on the website did it show the model’s name.

Victor tried to search for a gallery of models in the Detroit area, but even when he searched by “Asian, Male, 20s,” he came up with nothing that matched. Even searching the whole state came up with nothing. He must’ve been at it for hours, squinting at model after model, hoping one of their faces would ring familiar. When he’d seen so many faces that he started to doubt his ability to recognize the man, Victor stopped searching and composed an email.

_From: vnikiforov@gmail.com_

_To: info@euphoriakatsuki.com_

_Subject: Commission Request_

_To Euphoria Katsuki,_

_I am Victor Nikiforov, and recently received your catalog through my coach. Having looked through your examples, I have decided that I’d like to commission a costume for this competitive season. I realize it is short notice for the season, but I am willing to pay any rush fees to ensure that I have the costume by September. If this is at all possible, please let me know as soon as you can, so we can schedule an in-person meeting._

_Regards,_

_Victor Nikiforov_

The reply came after just two minutes, which at first excited him, then quickly faded to disappointment.

_From: info@euphoriakatsuki.com_

_To: vnikiforov@gmail.com_

_Subject: Re: Commission Request_

_Hello! Thank you for contacting Euphoria Katsuki!_

_Your email is very important to us, but please understand we have been flooded with emails recently, and currently we do not the resources to respond to everyone in a professionally timely manner. While we’re working to correct this, please give us a few days, up to a week, to respond to questions. Serious commission requests are receiving higher priority at this time, but we hope to get back to everyone as soon as possible._

_Thank you so much for your patience, and we look forward to speaking with you soon!_

_Phichit Chulanont_

_Lead Designer_

_Euphoria Katsuki_

Victor stared at the email for a while, then closed his laptop with a sigh. He wasn’t used to taking so much time trying to find an answer and coming up with nothing, which really said something about the problems he’d faced until this point. All he could do now was work on something else while he waited.

He looked at the long list of music loaded on his phone, and decided he wasn’t in the mood for trying to solve a problem without a clear answer. Instead he grabbed his wallet and keys and went out the door, on a mission to fix something else.

 

* * *

 

“You again,” Yakov grumbled. “What are you doing here?”

Victor lifted his grocery bag. “Making dinner. Is Yuri here?”

“He’s in the living room with his friend. Why? Why are you making dinner?”

“Can’t I do something nice for my favorite coach?” Victor said, throwing his free arm around Yakov.

“You did something stupid,” Yakov grumbled.

“Not yet,” Victor said in a sing-song voice, and took his groceries to the kitchen. Potya was in there eating, but the cat scrambled away as soon as Victor entered. It had been a while since he’d made dinner here. He liked the kitchen of Lilia’s house for how big and well-stocked it was, which made cooking there simple and fun. All he had to do was bring the food.

He was just putting beef in the oven and planning on starting preparation for dessert when Yuri wandered in.

“What are you doing here?”

“Making you dinner,” Victor said, putting a little honesty in his words without sounding too sappy.

“Bad luck, then, because we’re going out.”

“Are you sure? I’m making stroganoff and medovik.”

Yuri stared him down, clearly conflicted on whether he wanted to stay for some of his favorite dishes or not.

“Look, I said some things yesterday that I regret. Let me make it up to you.”

Yuri glared, scrutinizing him. “Why are you giving me a pass? The shit I said was worse.”

“I can only apologize for my own actions, Yurotchka.”

He looked at Victor dully. “Fine. You can apologize with food. In return I promise to stop calling you ugly.”

Victor had to smile. “Sounds fair. How’s Otabek?”

Yuri turned to leave. “Fine.” He made to walk away, then stopped, and turned back around. “Did you bring back that catalog?”

“Sorry kitten, that one’s mine now,” Victor said with a wink. “Good to know we have similar taste in men, though.”

“Agh gross gross gross!” He covered his ears as he stomped away. “I didn’t hear that! I didn’t hear that!”

Victor smiled to himself, pulling out the ingredients to make the medovik. It was more time consuming than he might’ve normally done, but he wanted something to occupy his mind so he wouldn’t be checking his email every ten minutes.

Days passed. Then over a week. Victor thought he would go insane waiting for a reply, so he sent another email, declaring it urgent that they schedule a meeting in person, hinting that he’d pay more than their asking price with prompt service. He also threw in a casual remark about the model on the cover of the catalog, hoping they might answer the question before he left the country looking for him.

But a week passed, and there was still no reply. He had Chris send in a question about a fabric they’d used in one of the example costumes, and he’d received a real reply in two days.

Perhaps his email had been blocked by some mechanism in their system? But that didn’t make sense, as he’d received an autoreply.

Victor decided there was nothing left to do but go there in person. He packed a bag with a few days worth of clothes, and booked the next flight he could to Detroit.

He was a madman, he knew. But he needed closure. He needed to know, and move on. He couldn’t sit still until he knew who that man was, and why his emails were getting ignored.

* * *

 

“They really work here?” Victor muttered to himself. The building was old, deep in a quiet industrial area of the city surrounded by warehouses. The cab had dropped him off here, and the GPS told him he was at the right place, but it didn’t feel right for some reason.

Shrugging to himself, he walked around the building to look for something that looked like a main entrance. A car was parked on the street near a heavy door with a buzzer, so he decided to try there first. He buzzed twice, then waited. Surely they’d be working at 2pm on a Thursday?

It was a moment before the door swung open. A man in glasses answered, the sun glaring off the lenses and making it hard for Victor to see his face. He gave Victor a long look, and frowned.

“No,” he said, and shut the door.

No? What sort of greeting was that? Surely he’d been mistaken.

But no matter how many more times Victor buzzed, the man never came back to the door. Victor had glimpsed bolts of fabric on a wall, as well as sewing machines and other implements of costume-making, so he was fairly certain he had the right place. But for whatever reason, the man inside took one look at him, and shut him out.

Something was going on, and Victor had no idea how to proceed.

He hailed a ride back to his hotel, trying to formulate a plan to get to the bottom of this. Before he’d reached the elevators up to his room, though, his phone buzzed with a new email.

_From: ph1ch1txo@gmail.com_

_To: vnikiforov@gmail.com_

_Subject: Regarding Euphoria Katsuki_

_Mr. Nikiforov_

_I apologize for using my personal email, but my partner monitors all work emails and he really didn’t want me to send this. I tried to tell him how unprofessionally he was acting in regards to your emails, but he’s being stubborn and won’t listen to me._

_I’m very sorry for how my partner acted this afternoon. I’ve made my feelings clear to him that I don’t appreciate his treatment of a potential customer, much less a prominent figure skater such as yourself, but his emotions in this matter are too strong to break through with talk of professionalism. I worry that your coming all this way might have been a waste for you._

_I’d like to speak with you in person if you can spare the time. If you let me know where you’re staying, I can meet you in the lobby of your hotel or at a nearby café to discuss what’s going on. It will have to be a little late, after 8pm probably. If you’d prefer you can text me at (313)###-#### to arrange this._

_Phichit Chulanont_

Victor read and reread the email, trying to make sense of it. Emotions? What sort of emotions were getting in the way? Why had the man taken one look at him and turned him away?

Victor texted the number and confirmed it was, at least in all likelihood, the man who had emailed him. He gave him the name of the hotel, and accepted the man’s suggestion that they meet at the late-night café across the street at 8:45pm.

Victor hoped he hadn’t made a huge mistake.

At 8:35 he sat at one of the tables in the corner, untouched decaf latte steaming calmly in front of him. It was better to show up early, he’d told himself, but it really just meant that he’d be sitting by himself for ten minutes, nervously glancing at the door any time it opened. Victor wondered if he’d even be recognized in this strange city.

He shook his head at himself. If this man knew anything about figure skating, of course Victor would be recognized. This whole thing was making him go crazy.

A small, brown-skinned man walked through the door, a black folio in his arms. As he glanced around the café, his eyes met Victor’s, and they widened in recognition. He didn’t smile in greeting, instead seeming fearful, but he still approached Victor’s table.

“Mr. Nikiforov. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Are you sure?” Victor asked, extending his hand. “Phichit, was it?”

“Pih-cheet, actually,” he corrected, sounding like he’d done it a thousand times before. “And yes, it is. I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances, but it _is_ an honor to meet you. May I sit?”

Victor gestured. “Please do.”

Phichit sat, his hands shaking as he set down his folio. “So, I guess the answer is pretty obvious by now, but I have to ask—you don’t know Yuuri Katsuki, do you?”

“Aside from guessing that he’s the ‘Katsuki’ part of Euphoria Katsuki, no.”

“You don’t remember meeting him before, or any sort of work by him? The name didn’t ring a bell at all?”

Victor frowned. “No. I don’t know him.”

Phichit sighed. “I thought so. I tried to tell him, but—well, I guess it wouldn’t have made anything better. This is all just an awful situation, but I’m still hopeful there’s a reasonable explanation.”

Victor had hoped for answers, but everything this man was saying just made everything more confusing. “A reasonable explanation for what?”

Phichit bit his lip, and opened his folio. He pulled out a thin stack of papers, looked them over, then handed them to Victor. “Does this look familiar to you at all?”

“I feel like I’m being interrogated for a crime investigation,” Victor joked with a nervous laugh.

“You are,” Phichit deadpanned, sounding completely serious.

Victor felt a sense of dread settle in his chest, and looked at the papers. The design was immediately familiar, though the attached fabric swatches were a little different than he remembered. “This is my costume,” he said. “I think it was probably… four seasons ago? Short Program. Etoile et Lune.” He remembered it pretty well, all things considered. “I think I took gold twice that year.”

“You did,” Phichit said. “I remember it.”

“So why are you showing me my costume?”

“Because those are Yuuri’s papers. _He_ designed that costume.”

Victor blinked in confusion. “But that’s impossible. I worked with Primakov that year. I still remember going in for the fittings. Your partner must have just… copied it.”

Phichit physically recoiled, and snatched the papers back from Victor with a dirty look. “No. Yuuri designed this himself. He told me how he drew inspiration from a prince in a storybook he’d read as a child, and even _showed me_ the pictures from the book. He described his reasoning behind every fabric choice, why he chose satin over spandex and how he planned to fix the mobility problem, what his plans were for the sequin pattern on the collar, how he’d deliberated over red or blue and decided that, while red was decidedly more regal, blue matched your eyes better. He told me how excited he was when he put together a copy of the design, and how he’d been so nervous writing the heartfelt letter that asked you to consider letting him make the costume, because it had been his dream since his first time watching you skate to make something specifically for you. He told me how he never really expected you to respond, because you were famous, at the height of your career, and wouldn’t really have time for someone like him.”

Victor’s dread grew tenfold, knowing what must have happened next.

“And then,” Phichit went on, “he told me how it felt, after months of no response, to see his favorite skater in the world wear the costume he’d designed. A costume that wasn’t quite right, didn’t really match his vision, but was close enough to not be a coincidence. A costume he _didn’t make._ A costume he’d probably spent most of his life thinking about, made by someone else’s hand, with no acknowledgement from anyone that he’d contributed anything to it. He told me how it nearly broke him, how it made him want to drop out of college and stop making costumes altogether. So no, Mr. Nikiforov, I don’t believe he _copied_ it. I believe you, or someone you know, stole his design, and gave it to your costume makers.”

Victor was rendered speechless for a moment. “I…” He stared down at his barely-touched latte. “I have no memory of this happening. I don’t remember getting a design in the mail. I don’t remember a letter, or anything. My coach just showed me the design, and I approved it. I assumed he’d gotten it from Primakov’s.”

Phichit sank back a little, seemingly relieved. “I hoped that was the case. I didn’t want to believe there was any foul play from you, because like Yuuri, I spent a long time admiring you. I had trouble believing the story at first, but he was just so _angry,_ and he had so many details—it was hard to believe those feelings came from nowhere. Needless to say, though, he doesn’t want to work for you.”

“I can’t blame him,” Victor said sincerely. “Really, I hope I can find some way to make it up to him.”

“Not much can be done at this point, I don’t think,” Phichit said, hugging himself. “That anger at your betrayal runs _deep._ He made me send you that ‘auto reply’ as soon as he saw the email. He wanted you to suffer the feeling of no response like he had.”

“Surely he’d accept my apology if I just explained what happened,” Victor said hopefully.

“I don’t know…” Phichit wouldn’t meet his eyes. “See, he doesn’t trust you like he used to. He likes to make all these crazy assumptions out of nowhere, because he believes that you’re a snake who just uses his fans to get ahead. Any apology from you would just look to him like you’re trying to get another free design out of him. So I’d just—give up on that.”

“But I _do_ want to apologize,” Victor insisted. “Even if it was unintentional, I hate knowing that I caused that sort of hurt to one of my fans.”

“Do it if it makes you feel better,” Phichit said, sliding the papers back into his folio and closing it with an air of finality. “But don’t expect anything back from him. He wrote you off a long time ago, and it would take a miracle for him to soften. Believe me. I’ve tried.” He stood to leave, but hesitated. “One last thing. Don’t go looking for that model you asked about. You won’t find him, and even if you did, you’d just be disappointed.” With that last ominous note hanging in the air, Phichit left the café.

Victor took a sip from his neglected latte, but even the sugary drink tasted like ash in his mouth. How could he have done such a thing without realizing it? Why hadn’t Yakov given him the letter? Victor loved taking care of his fans, but more importantly, he loved that design. It was one of his favorite costumes of his career.

And what had Phichit meant about the model? Though he was still curious, the desire to find out who the man was had waned significantly upon learning about this new problem.

Victor pulled out his phone to call Yakov, until he realized it was just after 4am in Russia. Better to wait a few hours. There were other things he could do in the meantime to help get to the bottom of this.


	5. Chapter 5

Yuuri walked up the stairs, absently looking through the pile of ads that he’d pulled out of their mailbox. The door to their apartment was propped wide open, as it tended to be on warm days like this.

“Phichit, did you ever get back to that Canadian skater about his jacket? He’d asked… something, I forgot.”

Phichit didn’t look up from his desk, still busy sketching designs, like he’d done all afternoon. “Yeah, he was asking about our schedule. I told him we could squeeze him in at the end of October, but no sooner. He hasn’t written back to confirm yet.”

“Alright.” Yuuri tossed the mail on the kitchen table to look through later, but it scattered a little too far, and one of the envelopes fell to the floor. As he picked it up, he saw it was addressed to him in a careful handwritten script. That in itself was unusual—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d received a handwritten anything. Even his mother chose to email him, these days. But what was stranger was that it lacked a return address, or any sort of indication as to who might have sent it. He straightened. “What’s this?”

Phichit looked up curiously as Yuuri carefully pried it open. The envelope wasn’t cheap, the flap breaking away from the glue without tearing at all.

Yuuri pulled out the contents, a folded piece of paper, and—“A check?” When he saw the amount written, he gasped, dropping the letter and envelope to cover his mouth. “Phi—Phichit!”

“What is it?” Phichit asked excitedly, hurrying over. “…Holy shit.”

“What the fuck? What the fuck? Why would someone send us _ten thousand dollars?”_ Yuuri’s heart was pounding so loudly he could hardly think.

“Not us,” Phichit said. “You. It’s made out to you, not the company.”

Yuuri didn’t voice the thought that came to his head, that any amount this large would go to the company anyway. They could buy all sorts of new equipment with this, like an industrial printer for printing digital patterns to scale, or they could replace their ancient serger. He opened his mouth to express disbelief again, but stopped as soon as he saw the name on the check. His arm fell like lead, the check drifting from his hand down to the floor.

Phichit bent down to pick it up. “Yuuri, what—oh.”

“Oh,” Yuuri echoed dryly. “Tell me—why is Victor Nikiforov giving me ten thousand dollars?”

Phichit recoiled at Yuuri’s harsh tone. “Well, it says on here what it’s for—‘the beautiful prince costume’.”

“And why is this happening now?” Fury began to surge through Yuuri’s body, barely contained as he waited for his partner to explain.

“Well, I’m sure if you read the letter—”

“ _Phichit.”_

“Alright, Alright.” Phichit put his hands up and backed away. “I—I might’ve told him what happened.”

Blood roared through Yuuri’s ears. “ _Phichit!”_

“Don’t screech at me! If you weren’t being an absolute toddler about it—”

“I trusted you!” Yuuri broke in. “I fucking trusted you, and you went behind my back!”

“What was I supposed to do, Yuuri? He came all the way here! What if he’d gone back to Russia and told everyone he knew about how you’d literally slammed the door in his face with no explanation?”

“I _expected_ you to talk to me about it!” Yuuri’s chest was so tight that he felt like throwing up, just to expel something from his body. “If you were that concerned—”

“When was I supposed to talk about it, Yuuri? _When?_ You shut me out every time I even _mentioned_ it. If I didn’t say anything about it, that poor man—”

“Oh, that _poor man._ Poor talented, rich, famous Victor Nikiforov! I’m sure he was just so _put out_ by me—”

Phichit took a careful step forward. “Yuuri, he _didn’t know._ I know you probably don’t believe me, but he was legitimately distressed when I told him what happened. He wanted to apologize—”

“I don’t give a shit what he _wanted!_ You had no right to tell him!” Tears were streaming unbidden down Yuuri’s face. He wiped them away furiously.

Phichit took another step forward, reaching out. “Yuuri—”

Yuuri flinched. “Don’t touch me! I can’t—I can’t even look at you right now.”

“Yuuri…”

“Just—go somewhere else.”

“You—you want me to leave?” Phichit’s voice turned incredibly small.

“Yes.”

Phichit stepped away and sighed. He went to his desk and gathered up his sketch book and pencils. “I hope that when you come down from this tantrum, you realize how little you actually listened to me,” he said in a voice on the verge of tears.

“Just leave already!” As soon as he heard the door click shut, Yuuri fell to the floor, collapsing in a fit of painful sobs. Anger and sadness hit him in alternating waves, his friend’s betrayal echoing back feelings he’d long forgotten the sharpness of. His dearest friend, the person he trusted more than anyone else in the world, sneaking around to tell his secrets to the one person to whom he’d never wanted them told.

 _Of course_ Victor didn’t know. Yuuri had suspected for a long time that the skater wasn’t responsible for the theft, but the pain was mostly still the same. Nothing could ever soften that feeling of utter shock, shame, and betrayal that he’d felt when Victor stepped out in his prince costume all those years ago. Yuuri had never felt so low until that point, and nothing he’d felt since then had even come close.

Until tonight.

When Yuuri finally gathered himself off the floor, feeling like he might’ve left an actual puddle of snot and tears behind, he knew he’d been unfair to Phichit. Phichit was looking out for the company, Yuuri knew, but he also knew that Phichit’s kind heart couldn’t stand what Yuuri was doing to Victor. Yuuri had known it was petty revenge to a man who didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t even look at the man without remembering, and he’d wanted Victor to feel just a tiny fraction of what Yuuri had felt that year. He thought Victor would give up after a week, go with one of his more reliable costume makers. He never thought the man would fly halfway across the world to meet with him.

And he never in his wildest dreams would have thought Victor would offer _ten fucking thousand dollars_ as an apology.

Yuuri picked up the fallen letter, and spent a long time staring at it. He didn’t want to read it. He didn’t want to learn about how all of his anger over the years had been misguided. He didn’t want to open the door to those feelings he’d tightly locked away years ago, when he’d vowed to never leave himself so vulnerable to anyone ever again.

But his will could only hold out so long. Yuuri sat on the bed, turned on his lamp, and slowly began to read.

_Dear Mr. Katsuki_

_I am at a loss at how to begin this letter. How does one apologize for causing such deep hurt to someone they have never met? Yet I knew in my heart it had to be done, because I played an undeniable part in causing you pain, and I am truly, deeply sorry for it._

_I have been blessed to have many dedicated fans in my life, but what you did, the effort you put in, went above and beyond most all of them. It was a grave sin to have overlooked your work, and it is one that I deeply regret now that I am aware of it. I never received your letter, never saw your beautiful designs until my coach presented them to me, treating them as if they had come from our usual company. Upon learning your story from your partner, I immediately dug around to find out why._

_Unfortunately, no one seems to remember. My coach is getting on in years, and while it was unreasonable to expect him to remember a small detail from four years ago, I still expressed my deep disappointment in him. I worry about other fans I might have caused pain to by never receiving or responding to their letters and gifts, but I suppose I will never know. What I do know is that, since I’ve learned what happened with you, I can hopefully try to make amends._

_Enclosed is a portion of my winnings from the year I wore the costume inspired by your design. It remains to this day one of my favorite costumes, and I know I wouldn’t have done half as well without it. Please accept it not as a gift or apology, but as a payment for the countless hours of thought you put into your design. I know money cannot make up for the distress I’ve caused, but I hope you will accept it in good faith and use it on something that might make you happy._

_I realize now that it was not on a whim that I wished to work with you and your company this year, that I must have been drawn to you either by intuition or recognition. You see, I have decided that this is my final competitive year, and I wanted to construct a program that I felt fully encompassed the real me. I was captivated by the prince costume in your catalog in the same way that I had been all those years ago, when I looked at your design for approval. It was perhaps too forward of me to fly all the way to you without any sort of confirmation from you, and knowing what I know now, I perhaps should have approached you in a different way._

_But if you would be willing to work with me this year, on my final competitive season, I would be honored and delighted beyond measure. I realize your schedule might already be full, but I would be very willing to make it worth your while in any way I am capable. My original plan was to have only one of my costumes commissioned to you, but now I would love it if you would allow me to take enough of your time to have at least two made._

_This is, of course, hinging on whether or not you might find it in your heart to forgive me for the pain I’ve caused. I fully understand if you wish to never see me or associate with me again. My only request is that you, or your partner, take just a moment to send a response through email, so that I might make other accommodations for the season. If I do not hear back within two weeks of my sending this letter, however, I will accept that as your refusal._

_I selfishly hope that you might forgive me, because I am very interested in meeting you in person._

_With my sincerest feelings,_

_Victor Nikiforov_

It took Yuuri a solid twenty minutes to read the letter, as he kept having to stop and clear his vision. Hot tears poured constantly down his cheeks, searing his skin with unnamable emotions. Was he relieved? Upset? Grateful? Angry? Whatever he was, he felt immense pain, and buried his head in his pillow in an attempt to relieve it.

Eventually the tears stopped, and it felt like there was nothing left. Everything had poured out of him, leaving him empty and decidedly calmer. Yuuri was too tired to even feel startled when cool fingers brushed against the back of his neck.

“You didn’t leave,” Yuuri said weakly.

“You think I’d leave the building when I knew you’d be up here crying?” Phichit asked, settling beside Yuuri on the bed. “I couldn’t risk not being here if you needed me. Besides, you always calm down after you break open like this. I figured I just had to wait it out until I could talk to you again.”

Yuuri pressed his face harder into the softness of the pillow. “You know me too well.”

Phichit’s hand travelled upward, stroking Yuuri’s hair. “Someone needs to. Can we talk now?”

Yuuri didn’t answer right away. He was enjoying Phichit’s touch too much.

“Can I read the letter, at least? So I know what we’re dealing with.”

Yuuri hadn’t realized he was still clutching it in his hand, the paper now severely wrinkled. He handed it over to Phichit, who unfolded it and smoothed it out before returning his hand to Yuuri’s hair.

“He’s so formal,” Phichit commented. “But you don’t get the impression he’s insincere. I wonder where he learned to write English so well.”

“He had a tutor,” Yuuri said, the knowledge spouting out of him unbidden, as though he were still the same encyclopedic fan he’d been when he was a teenager. “He once said in an interview that his favorite language to speak was French, but his favorite language to write was English, because there are so many different words to use that mean the same thing. He also reads books in English.”

“Leave it to the Victor fan,” Phichit teased.

“I’m not a fan.”

“Former fan, then.” Phichit went quiet, undoubtedly finishing the letter. Yuuri almost felt like he could sleep, so long as Phichit kept stroking his hair.

“I still hate him,” Yuuri felt the need to say.

“I’m not surprised,” Phichit said. “But what will you do? You have to admit, he’s offered you a huge opportunity—not only will he be wearing your costumes at major competitions, but he’ll be wearing them for his _last season._ Everyone will be paying attention to him. And it sounds like he won’t keep quiet about where he had them made.”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said dully, which was the truth.

“Well, I wouldn’t trust any decision you made tonight, anyway,” Phichit said. “What will you do about the money? Are you going to cash the check?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said again.

“Don’t let me tell you what you should or shouldn’t do with it. It’s yours, whether you want to tear it up or use it to buy a Rolex. Though I should remind you my birthday’s coming up.”

Yuuri exhaled a sound that was almost a laugh. “Your birthday was less than a month ago. I bought you a new phone case.”

“Would be nice to have a new phone to go with it…”

“Your phone is less than a year old.”

“Well you just have all the answers tonight, don’t you?” Phichit said in an annoyed tone, though his hand remained as gentle as ever.

“If I keep the money, I’ll use it to buy something that makes our lives easier,” Yuuri promised. “I just don’t really know yet if I can accept it. It’s so much.”

“It would make him feel better.”

“Another reason not to cash it.”

Phichit laughed. “You’re so bitter. Is there anything he could possibly do to earn your forgiveness?”

“He could get on his knees and beg for it,” Yuuri said without thinking.

Phichit’s hand stilled.

“I—I didn’t mean that,” Yuuri said hastily.

Phichit chuckled softly. “I think you did. Did we finally uncover one of the enigmatic Yuuri Katsuki’s secret desires?”

“N-no! That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that!” Yuuri felt his face redden, and he buried his head in the pillow once more.

“What did you mean it like, then?”

“I…” Yuuri turned his head, unsure how to explain it. “He’s asking for forgiveness now because he feels guilty, but he only feels guilty because someone told him to feel that way. I wish he’d ask for forgiveness out of a wish to make amends with me, rather than to ease his guilt, if that makes sense. Throwing money at me is an impersonal response to a personal issue.”

“And getting on his knees and begging you is a personal response?”

“Takes away some of his dignity, unlike the money,” Yuuri said, then shook his head. “I’m not going to pretend that it’ll ever happen, or that it needs to happen.”

“You just _want_ it to happen.”

“I want a lot of things to happen,” Yuuri said, finally drawing the strength to sit up. “I want a lot of things to have never happened. What I want isn’t exactly important to what’s best for our company.”

“But it’s not _un_ important, Yuuri,” Phichit said. “You built this company on your drive and desires—if it’s not making you happy, then one way or another, it will start to fail.”

Yuuri brought his knees to his chest, exhaling away some of his tension. “I’m not going to argue that point, but what makes me happy isn’t always tied to getting what I want. A lot of it, I already have.” He gave his partner a meaningful look.

Phichit smiled, and leaned over to plant a kiss on the side of Yuuri’s head. “You’re sweet in the oddest ways sometimes, Yuuri.”

“I’m still mad at you, though.”

Phichit pulled back with a resigned sigh. “I’m not surprised, but I do wish you’d see it from my angle.”

“I do see it from your angle,” Yuuri assured him. “And I should have expected you to talk to him. I should have known you’d want to at least help him understand _my_ angle, but it still hurts that you’d do it behind my back.”

“What should I have done differently, then?” Phichit asked. “You weren’t listening to me. Are you saying I could’ve convinced you to do it yourself?”

“No,” Yuuri admitted. “But you could have told me you’d done it, or were going to do it. I couldn’t have done anything to stop you, but at least I would’ve known where you stood. Usually when we’re like this you tell me what you’re going to do, no matter how I feel about it. This just felt…” Yuuri closed his eyes, hugging himself. “It felt like betrayal. And it hurts.”

Warm arms encircled Yuuri. “You’re right; I’m sorry. I won’t pretend I regret talking to him, but I can say I at least regret lying by omission. I should have made my feelings clearer, but this was such a sensitive thing for you. Even mentioning his name was difficult, because I always felt you were teetering on the edge of an explosion when we talked about him. Not that I could blame you, really, but it was a difficult thing.”

Yuuri leaned into him. “I’m sorry for being difficult.”

“I’m sorry for betraying your trust,” Phichit said with a squeeze.

“I’m sorry for making that seem like your best option.”

“I’m sorry for talking to him.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. “Stay with me tonight?”

“Where the hell else would I go?”

“Wasn’t Leo’s friend having a party, or something?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Oh.”

Phichit pulled away, and pushed around Yuuri’s hair affectionately. “Though even if it were tonight, I’d ditch for you. You rarely ask for anything that isn’t work-related, so I know if you’re asking, you must _really_ want it.”

“I just… don’t want to be alone tonight.” Yuuri was afraid of his mind firing back up, of the feelings returning and his heart hurting again. He didn’t want to cry about it anymore, but if he was going to, he didn’t want to cry alone this time.

“Then you won’t be. How about we heat up that curry we made and watch some Netflix?”

* * *

  
As he sat at his work table the next day, tediously handsewing resin gems to a bodysuit, Yuuri tried to work out what to do next. The “right” option, what was best for the company, was clear. Tying his brand to Nikiforov would likely create more demand than they knew what to do with. They could charge couture prices with that sort of exposure, and the idea was both daunting and exciting in equal measure.

But Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was ready to work with Victor so closely. So many feelings stormed inside him whenever he saw, heard of, or thought about the man. It brought back echoes of his adolescence, when he’d seen Victor skate for the first time, filling him with awe and admiration at his beauty. Of the wonderment he’d felt when he saw Victor skate in person, that one beautiful evening in Sapporo. Of being filled with determination as he developed his skills, hoping to one day meet the man he’d so long admired. Of feeling nervous and excited as he pored over every detail of his design before he sent it. Of disappointment at never hearing back. Of betrayal, of heartbreak, of anger and sadness.

Nothing could be simple for Yuuri when it came to Victor Nikiforov.

“I won’t help you with this decision,” Phichit had said. “I think you know me well enough to know my feelings on it, but I’m not going to try to sway you in either direction. Only you know whether or not you can work with him.”

Yuuri _didn’t_ know, and that was the problem. The easier option would be of course to turn him down under the claim they couldn’t possibly fit him into their schedule, and Yuuri could rest easy knowing they probably wouldn’t cross paths ever again. Phichit would be disappointed, but at this point it wasn’t like they were hurting for money or work.

But Victor had noted in the letter that this would be his last competitive season, and despite his anger, Yuuri’s inner fan found that news saddening. He’d done a quick search on the internet and found nothing but speculation, so either Victor had lied to entice Yuuri, or he hadn’t told the public yet. Though Yuuri wanted to be petty and believe the worst of the man, he couldn’t accept that as something Victor would lie about. At the very least, it wasn’t an unlikely situation. He would be thirty before the season was over.

The thought of never seeing Victor compete again, despite the fact that Yuuri hadn’t really followed his career for some years now, seemed like a devastating loss. No matter how hard Yuuri tried to squash him, his inner fan still begged to be noticed, and the more Yuuri thought about the whole thing, the louder that fan got. It reminded him that this would be the only opportunity to live out his dream of working for Nikiforov, and warned he would regret not taking it for the rest of his life.

Yuuri held up the bodice he was working on, satisfied the gems were cooperating. He just needed to do a few more rows before he could add the skirt. It was a shame he couldn’t use glue for something like this—in his experience the heavier gems were always at a risk of falling off stretchy fabric, so he insisted on gluing the gems to metal fittings that allowed him to attach them with thread instead.

It really would be a shame to miss out on the opportunity, Yuuri decided. While he could never really erase what had happened to him, it might provide a better way to heal the wound that he’d carried for the past four years, and he’d get some extra money and exposure out of it as a bonus. He tried not to think about it as fulfilling a decade-long dream that he’d since given up on.

_Dear Mr. Nikiforov_

_Your apology was read and accepted, and I appreciate you reaching out. Forgiveness will be a slower process, I’m afraid, as it is difficult to judge sincerity through a letter, and that magnitude of hurt cannot be erased in a night. But I admit that it is possible, given enough time, that I can forgive you, if it is something you truly want from me. I honestly find it difficult to believe that you care so much, but we can discuss that later if you wish._

_Our schedule is full, but I am willing to shuffle some things around to make space for the costumes you require. Once we receive a down payment alongside your requests and specifications, we will begin the design immediately. The design process can take up to two weeks depending on how many amendments are asked for, and sometimes a wait period is necessary to order special fabrics if they are required. Once the design is finalized, we will provide an itemized list of all costs including all materials, accessories, and labor. Turnaround time is usually two weeks per costume upon finalization of payment, though I can do a week if a rush job is necessary, at a higher labor cost._

_Since you will likely prefer to work with us remotely, we will ask for measurements and make the pieces exactly to your size. In the case that alterations are necessary, we will refund any costs you incur. Our goal is to leave you satisfied with our work, so please do not hold back any feedback or concerns you may have._

_Thank you for your inquiry, and we look forward to working with you._

_Yuuri Katsuki_

_Euphoria Katsuki_


	6. Chapter 6

Victor stared at the email, growing more frustrated the more he thought about it.

He’d poured his heart into that handwritten letter, and to receive a reply that began personal, but ended up so formal, was awfully disappointing. Katsuki didn’t even mention the money, not that Victor cared that much. He just would have appreciated more acknowledgement that he’d done something right, rather than cold acceptance.

Victor _did_ want a chance at forgiveness, even though he’d never properly met this man. He hated thinking about how much hurt he’d caused this particular fan, how much disappointment and resentment Katsuki must have held for him all these years over such a terrible mistake. To ignore it now would put a huge blight on his final competitive season, and Victor couldn’t risk the damage that carrying all that guilt around would do to him. It was a problem he decidedly needed to fix as soon as possible, and he found himself looking for skating rinks around Detroit.

_Dear Mr. Katsuki,_

_Thank you for making space in your busy schedule for me. I will do my best to make it worth your while._

_Out of curiosity, how would the process change if I were local? I am considering a brief stay in America, and wouldn’t mind finding a rink close to you. Would I be able to work with you in person on the designs?_

_Victor Nikiforov_

It was only an hour before Katsuki responded.

_Mr. Nikiforov,_

_Yes, we would be able to do in-person consultations on designs, pending our schedules. It would help to have some specifications before your arrival, however, so that we might prepare some preliminary sketches for you to look at._

_In addition, we would be taking your measurements ourselves. If you will still be local when the costume is completed, we allow for fittings and alterations in person as well._

_If you could send us travel details alongside any design requests you have, we can arrange and schedule a preliminary consultation._

_Yuuri Katsuki_

_Euphoria Katsuki_

Victor only had to think for a few moments before he made the decision. “Yakov!” he yelled across the rink. “I’m going to America for a while!”

“What?” the old man growled back. “Again?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll practice the whole time I’m there!” He said it cheekily, like he had when he was little more than a child. There wasn’t much for Yakov to do at this stage in his career, anyway—best to let him focus on the younger skaters, for now.

* * *

 

Victor had planned ahead this time, renting a car and finding an apartment on Airbnb close to the rink he wanted to use. He booked for a month, though in all likelihood he would probably stay longer, just to ensure that he was there until the costumes were finished. He wasn’t going to allow this to be done halfway, as it was his last chance to really make an impression on the competitive scene.

His first consultation was scheduled for the day after he arrived, and Victor took extra care to ensure he found his way there and arrived on time. So much care, in fact, that he ended up arriving twenty minutes early with no idea what to do. He’d parked across the street, and contemplated just sitting there for a while, but he was too impatient. Since he still had Phichit’s number in his phone, he decided to try texting.

Victor: _I’m here_  
Victor: _I ended up overcompensating in case I got lost_  
Victor: _Should I stay in my car and wait?_  
Phichit: _haha no, it’s okay_  
Phichit: _you can come on in_

Victor got out of his car, and the door to the building was opened before he could reach it. Phichit smiled at him. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

Phichit beckoned him into a wide industrial space, organized into distinct sections based on their purpose. One corner had a huge rack filled with bolts of cloth next to a shelf full of bins, each one labeled clearly with their contents. Another area had a large, ancient-looking table with a supply cart next to it, sporting scissors, threads, tape, pins, and other small things. There were at least three sewing machines set up for use, with half a dozen more on a shelf against the wall. A white backdrop hung among some haphazardly arranged lights in a space likely used for photography, and dressforms of several varieties could be spotted wherever one looked.

It wasn’t anything spectacular, but it looked like a well-organized space. A good sign of competent work, which put Victor’s mind a little more at ease.

Phichit led him up a staircase that took a right turn before stopping at a heavy wooden door, which was propped open by a little doorstop. Victor hadn’t expected to be beckoned into an apartment, but that was undoubtedly what the place was used for. It was airy, with high ceilings and a big window covering most of the wall near the kitchen. A section of the space had been partitioned off with curtains and shelves, likely concealing a sleeping area, but the rest had a very open feel. It looked well-organized and tidy, but still lived-in and loved. He wouldn’t have minded staying in a place like this, rather than the tiny apartment he’d rented for his stay in Detroit.

“Do you live here?” Victor asked.

“Yes, with Yuuri,” Phichit said, and beckoned to a charmingly round kitchen table. “Please, sit. Would you like something to drink? Tea, water, coffee?”

Victor eyed the drip coffee pot, then thought better of it. “Tea, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Phichit busied himself preparing a small tea pot while an electric kettle heated up on the counter. Strange. Victor had always heard that Americans didn’t keep electric kettles, though he supposed that it was possible neither Katsuki nor Phichit was born here.

“Yuuri went out to make some copies of our designs, but he should be back soon,” Phichit explained. “We normally do them here, but our printer suddenly ran out of ink. Oh, that reminds me.” He pulled out his phone and tapped out some words before shoving it back into his pocket. “We needed stamps, too.”

“Have you two been together long?” Victor had to ask.

“Yuuri hired me right out of college, which was just over a year ago.” The kettle bubbled up, not quite to boiling, but Phichit removed it from its base anyway and filled the teapot. “Before that it was just him by himself, so I sort of became his partner by default.”

That wasn’t exactly the nature of the question Victor wanted to know the answer to, but it would have been too awkward to clarify. He accepted the teacup Phichit offered him, which smelled herbal, and just a little spicy. Victor had been expecting something more like a teabag in a mug, but this was surprisingly flavorful and delicate. “This is good, thank you.”

Phichit beamed. “I’m glad. It’s Yuuri’s favorite.” His smile fell. “Listen, I’m sorry if I came off as rude the last time we met.”

Victor waved his hand dismissively. “Not at all. You were understandably defensive of your partner. I’m just glad you took the time to tell me, as I would have never known otherwise.”

Phichit sat down heavily across from Victor. “Yuuri is… stubborn. I would say it’s one of his greater faults, but that stubbornness is what allowed him to build this company by himself. I felt awful going behind his back like that, and I paid a pretty heavy price for it. I can already tell he doesn’t trust me as much as he once did.” His smile returned. “But I’d like to think it was worth it. It really wasn’t fair to you to be left in the dark.”

“He really didn’t want me to know the truth?”

Phichit pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “It wasn’t that, exactly. He didn’t want to interact with you at all, but he said he didn’t care one way or another whether you knew or not. What I think hurt him was that I told you something that wasn’t my story to tell, and he rightfully felt betrayed by it. I also didn’t tell him I told you, which made it all the worse when you sent that letter.”

Victor grimaced. “I’m sorry to have caused so many problems.”

Phichit shook his head. “It was necessary. Yuuri’s been holding onto that grudge for a long time, and you could tell it wasn’t healthy. I’m hoping that, if nothing else, he can let go of all that anger and resentment by the end of this whole thing.”

“Would you say he’s still… angry and resentful, then?”

“Maybe not outwardly,” Phichit said. “But Yuuri’s good at masking his feelings. I wouldn’t worry too much about it—if this goes as planned, you won’t have to spend much time with him, anyway.”

Victor blinked. “I won’t?”

“He’ll be here for the consultations, but he prefers not to deal with clients too much, so I’m in charge of things like alterations and check-ups. And don’t be surprised if he doesn’t say much, because that’s just how he is.”

Victor couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “You don’t think he’d want to go out for coffee with me, so we could talk about what happened?”

Phichit stifled a sudden burst of laughter. “Sorry. I’ll just say—you’re welcome to try. Yuuri almost never goes out to do anything fun, even with me. Don’t be surprised if he comes up with a million excuses as to why he can’t.”

Victor looked down at his tea, wondering if this entire endeavor was a lost cause. He’d never even seen this man, aside from the glimpse he’d seen when Katsuki slammed the door in Victor’s face.

“But he accepted your apology when I was convinced he wouldn’t, so maybe the rules are different when it comes to you.”

Victor looked up, surprised at the softness in Phichit’s tone. The man had a smile that seemed almost sad. Victor was just gathering the courage to ask for details about their relationship when someone walked through the door.

“Yuuri!” Phichit got up from his chair and snatched the black folio from his arms. “Did you get everything?”

Katsuki sighed. “Yes, don’t worry. I did them all, and got stamps.” His eyes traveled to Victor, and he nodded in acknowledgement, making no movement to approach. “Mr. Nikiforov. I’m sorry I was late.”

“No, it’s alright, I was early—”

“I need to use the bathroom,” Yuuri muttered. “Phichit, you can start without me.” He walked off, disappearing behind a door at the far end of the apartment.

Phichit gave an apologetic smile before sitting back down. “So, you mentioned wanting to go with a royal theme for both of your costumes, which I personally got really excited about. Maybe a little too excited—I came up with so many ideas that I had to narrow them down.” He opened his folio and slid out a stack of papers, then began laying some of them out in front of Victor. “I kept the duality theme you requested for each of these pairs, though if you like certain elements of different costumes, we can combine what you like.”

Phichit presented him with three pairs of costumes, each with its own unique theme. One pair that Victor liked had a fire and ice theme, with a masculine, icy prince costume, and a fiery one that was decidedly more feminine and princess-like. It felt a little bold, however, a little too loud for what he was going for. Another pair had a black and white theme, which he liked more, but the costumes felt too similar. The third he didn’t like at all, though he couldn’t articulate why. It didn’t feel like him.

He discussed his thoughts with Phichit for a few minutes before Yuuri quietly joined them at the table, observing with sharp eyes and saying nothing. Victor couldn’t help glancing at him occasionally, a vague sense of familiarity budding inside him the more he looked. He couldn’t place the man at all, though.

“I really like the cut of this one here,” Victor said, pointing to the black and white prince costume. “But it feels a little busy. And the counterpart… I wish I could say why I don’t like it, but something about it doesn’t feel quite right.”

“Hmm, perhaps the neckline?” Phichit said, picking up the sheet to look at it more closely. “We can give it something more like this one.”

“I’m not sure that would fix it…”

Katsuki shifted in his seat, but it was a subtle movement, like he was trying to look inconspicuous. Phichit noticed, however, and elbowed him. “Show him yours.”

“You’re the designer,” Katsuki muttered.

“So are you. Let him see.”

Frowning, Katsuki took the folio and removed two sketches. Victor could immediately tell they were done by a different person, the way the lines were straighter and bolder than Phichit’s. “The reason that one doesn’t look right—and the reason none of the feminine costumes look right—is because he went in designing for a prince and a princess. Excuse me for saying so, but a princess doesn’t suit you at all. You can maybe pull off a prince, but I think someone with your legacy needs something more mature.” He spread out the two designs and pushed them in front of Victor. “These are a king and queen. White and black. Regal, elegant, and deceptively simple, letting your body be the artwork.”

Victor stared at the designs, his eyes taking in the high feathered collar of the Black Queen, the gemmed sash of the White King—they were nothing like he had expected, but he was drawn to them. “I love them.”

Katsuki’s eyes widened just a fraction before he lowered his gaze. “Feel free to ask for any sort of alterations—these are obviously preliminary designs, and—”

“No,” Victor said decidedly. “I like them as they are. We can discuss fabric choice and detail specifics, but these designs, as they are, are perfect. I want them.”

Phichit’s mouth broke into a grin, and he leaned into Katsuki. “That’s high praise, Yuuri.” He looked at Victor. “Yuuri hasn’t designed hardly anything since I was hired. He was afraid he’d gotten too rusty.”

Katsuki flushed. “Phichit!”

“What, it’s true,” Phichit said, and stood. “Let’s grab the fabric swatches and get to work.”

The three of them spent an hour going through various black and white fabric swatches. The conversation was dominated mostly by Phichit and Yuuri discussing the utilitarian differences between varying weaves and thicknesses, filling Victor in when they deemed it necessary. Victor didn’t follow every conversation thread, but he thought the two of them worked well together, listening to each other’s concerns, Phichit yielding to Yuuri’s clear experience when necessary. Victor could admit he was a little jealous.

“I’ll clean up the designs to take into account the fabric choices and the detail specifications,” Katsuki said as a conclusion to the meeting. “Next time we’ll take your measurements and get started.”

“When should I expect to come back?” Victor asked.

Phichit went over to a large calendar laid out on a desk. “Mm, give us about… Three days or so? Is that alright, Yuuri?”

“Should be fine,” Katsuki said absently, his eyes trained to a paper where he was writing down notes. Victor still couldn’t get over the fact that he was familiar somehow.

“Mr. Katsuki, before I go, I have to ask… Have we met before now?”

“He slammed the door in your face, remember?” Phichit said unhelpfully.

“Before that, I mean.”

Katsuki sighed, as if he were annoyed. “The only time I was within a hundred meters of you was when I saw your performance in Sapporo at the NHK Trophy as a teenager. I would be incredibly surprised if you both acknowledged me at the time _and_ remembered me eight years later.”

“Perhaps not, then,” Victor said, disappointed. Katsuki was right, though; it did seem implausible. He turned toward the door. “Well, I suppose I’ll be back in three days. Thank you for making time to see me.”

“I’ll show you out,” Phichit offered. Once they got outside and closed the door, he stopped Victor with a gesture. “I’m sorry Yuuri isn’t the most… charming of people. I know it might be hard to believe considering the circumstances, but it’s not personal. He’s like this to everyone.”

Victor frowned. He hadn’t sensed anything particularly bad about Katsuki, though perhaps his threshold for rudeness was skewed by a certain younger skater. “It’s entirely fine.”

Phichit grinned. He really had a charming demeanor. “Thanks for understanding. I’ll text you in the next couple of days to set up a time. Are you training nearby?”

“I haven’t been yet, but I’ve contacted the Detroit Skating Club to work out a schedule.”

“Oh really?” Phichit’s eyes lit up. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime.”

“You’re a skater?” Victor asked, surprised.

Phichit waved his hand. “Just casually. My friend Guang-Hong skates there, though, and I sometimes go to his practice to support him.”

“Guang-Hong? As in Guang-Hong Ji? I’ve met him plenty of times.”

Phichit beamed. “That’s him. He’ll be glad to know you remember him.”

“He got a gold medal at last year’s GPF, didn’t he? It’s hard to forget him, not that he’s not memorable on his own merits.” Victor would never mention that the man’s name was only stuck in his mind because of the long rant Yuri had given about him when he’d lost. “Will he be upset to share a rink with me, do you think?”

“Well, considering how big a fan he is, you might mess up his practice a little, but overall I think he’d be honored. If he fanboys out at you too much, though, give me a call and I’ll set him straight.”

It took a second for Victor to parse that sentence, but he thought he got the idea. “I’ll keep that in mind, though in general fans don’t bother me.”

“Everyone has a limit to their patience,” Phichit said. “Anyway, I’ll let you get out of here. Safe driving! Let me know if you get lost, or need to know where to eat.”

Victor offered him a smile. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

Phichit waved as Victor drove away. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d met someone new and felt so at ease with them in such a short time. Phichit really was a friendly person, a good balance to Katsuki’s aloofness, and a remarkably talented designer for his age and experience. Victor could only wish he had a partnership that seemed to work as well as theirs did.

Katsuki was still an enigma to Victor, but that was far more of an incentive to get to know him than a deterrent. Victor wondered what made him tick, what made him get up in the morning and create costumes. While he certainly seemed to be doing well enough for himself, Victor had the sense Katsuki wasn’t in it for the money. There was deep passion in those lines he drew and in the way he spoke about them.

And even with the assurance that they hadn’t met before, Victor still couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity when he looked at Katsuki. Something about him reminded him of someone, but no matter how hard Victor wracked his brain, he couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t feel like it should be from such a distant memory as Sapporo when he was twenty-one, but Victor couldn’t think of any instance where he would have seen the man recently. Or anyone who happened to look like him.

He really needed to forget about it.

It felt good to get back on the ice that evening, if only for a short skate to warm up his muscles. He wasn’t yet worried that he hadn’t developed any choreography or even chosen his second song, but he did wish he had something to practice aside from jumps and spins, which he refrained from to avoid attention.

His restraint proved futile, however, when a group of young competitive skaters recognized him anyway. They watched from the sidelines with wide, excited eyes, and Victor couldn’t help but do a few jumps to show off before he got off the ice. He smiled at them as they approached asking for autographs and pictures, and spent a little time appeasing them before he left. They were so young, the oldest of them probably no more than thirteen. It had been drilled into Victor at a young age how important it was to the health of the sport to encourage fans, especially young skaters, but it was only well into his twenties that Victor clearly saw the extent of his influence, and vowed to always take time for his fans. They were the lifeblood of the sport, the reason he and his peers got paid as much as they did.

And, if he were honest, a part of Victor _did_ thrive on the positive attention. He just had to be careful he didn’t let it go to his head.

* * *

 

“Welcome back, Mr. Nikiforov,” Phichit greeted at the door.

“Please, call me Victor. Both of you,” Victor added, loud enough for Katsuki, who was working on the other side of the room, to hear. Katsuki barely acknowledged him.

Phichit, who didn’t miss the coldness, smiled sheepishly and gestured to a table. “Come over here. Yuuri cleaned up the designs, and we cut a few larger swatches of fabric so you can see the full weave of the patterns.”

Katsuki had drawn the designs on larger paper, the blank faced figures tall and decidedly regal. Victor noticed how precise and detailed the crystal patterns were on the Black Queen costume, how the White King’s sash had close-up drawings of the subtle beadwork it would require. He’d even drawn in Victor’s hair, coloring it in with a shiny silver marker. It truly showed the hand of someone who knew what they were doing, and Victor had to admire his attention to the work.

As it slowly sunk in that he’d be able to wear these costumes in little more than a month, Victor’s excitement for them grew. The designs were truly beautiful, and he was starting to feel the spark of inspiration grow inside him the longer he looked. A snippet of choreography, a piece of a song, a spin that would send those stones twinkling like stars under the lights. He found himself suddenly wishing he had a rink right there, so he could start practice _now,_ nevermind that he’d just come from the rink.

“Do you like them?” Phichit asked.

Victor shook his head, then smiled. “Like doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about them. They’re…” He didn’t want to call them perfect aloud, but the word sat comfortably in his heart. “They suit what I was going for. I’m truly impressed by them.” He looked over to Katsuki for a reaction, but the man was still bent over the table with his square, drawing lines and taking measurements on the expanse of paper.

“I’m glad,” Phichit said, glancing warily at Katsuki. “What about the fabric? Do you think this will work for you?”

Victor spent some time testing the fabric swatches and listening to Phichit’s explanation on which areas required which fabric and why, but his eyes kept glancing over at Katsuki, wondering why he was so hands-off at this part, considering they were _his_ designs. Victor knew that he was making Phichit nervous by watching his partner, but Victor couldn’t help it. That spark of familiarity hadn’t gone away, and it nagged at Victor considerably.

“Is there any way I can take these with me?” Victor asked. “I’d like to have something to look at while I work on developing my programs.”

“Eh? Well… We kind of need them to do our work...”

How could Victor be so stupid? Of course they needed to keep the drawings. “Ah right, sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Phichit assured him. “How about I go take these to get some high-quality copies? It should only take me about 20 minutes or so, and while I’m gone Yuuri can get your measurements.”

Katsuki finally looked up at them, an annoyed frown on his face.

“You can do that, _right Yuuri?”_ Those last words had an edge to them, like Phichit was trying to use them to cut through Katsuki’s head.

“Yes, yes,” Katsuki said dully, and bent over to draw one last line before setting down his supplies.

Phichit went over to him, draped his arm around Katsuki’s shoulders, and whispered something in his ear that made Katsuki flush and nod. Phichit gave him a kiss on the cheek and a nuzzle against his neck before returning to the table to gather the papers. “I’ll be back soon,” he said cheerfully, and left.

“That looked like a promise,” Victor said suggestively.

Katsuki said nothing, going to his supply cart and procuring a notebook and a soft measuring tape. Victor couldn’t say why, but something about Katsuki put him on edge, like the man was a spring wound too tightly, straining to pop at any moment. Victor couldn’t take his eyes off of him for more than a few seconds.

“Stand over here,” Katsuki said, gesturing over to a low platform. When Victor tried to climb on top of it, Katsuki stopped him. “Wait. Shoulders first.” He took Victor’s upper measurements with mechanical precision, muttering numbers to himself before going over to the notebook to write them down. “Okay, stand on the platform.”

As Katsuki took Victor’s waist, hip, leg and inseam measurements, Victor found himself wondering what was so fascinating about him. He wasn’t particularly attractive or fashionable, nor did he have any real distinct look about him. Frankly, he looked bookish and dull, his outward appearance showing none of the artistry and creativity Victor knew he was capable of.

“Alright, that’s all we should need,” Katsuki declared, and frowned down at his notebook. He blinked a few times and removed his glasses, using his shirt to clear a smudge.

The familiarity sparked again.

Then Victor knew.

“You… You’re the model,” Victor said, taking a step towards Katsuki to look at him more closely.

Katsuki took a step back. “Model?”

Victor settled for leaning closer, tilting his head this way and that. “Yes, in the catalog. You’re the one on the cover.”

“O-oh. Yes. Phichit likes to use me to model his designs sometimes.” Katsuki was flushing again, then turned away suddenly. “Feel free to have a seat while you wait for him.”

Victor _really_ wanted to look more closely, but out of politeness he gave Katsuki his space and sat down. Katsuki looked at the measurements one more time, then went back to work at his table, picking up his curve tool. He was drawing patterns from scratch, Victor realized.

Impatient with sitting down, Victor got up and took a position where he could better watch what Katsuki drew, leaning carefully on a nearby long table. He had a sketch book off to the side, and looked to it for reference now and then. He seemed to be patterning a bodice to a woman’s costume, if the sketch was any indication, though Victor couldn’t make heads nor tails of what the pieces were supposed to be.

With a brief glance, Katsuki got up and went to the other side of the table, positioning himself in front of Victor. He bent over, giving Victor a decent view of his backside, though his ass was mostly hidden by the loose track pants. Something glistened on the right side, something that didn’t look right—Victor turned a little and saw it was a piece of clear tape stuck to Katsuki’s pants, just below his butt. Without thinking, he reached forward with intent to remove the offending adhesive, fingers having to grasp a little to get hold of it. In the span of a blink Katsuki spun around, grabbing Victor’s wrist and turning his body before slamming him against the concrete pillar, arm pinned behind his back.

“I’m sure it’s common enough that your fans appreciate this sort of attention, Mr. Nikiforov,” Katsuki said in a low voice. “But I’m not one of them. Do anything like this again, and I won’t sew a single stitch for you as long as you live. Arrogant prick.”

The way he’d muttered that last bit made Victor’s blood hum with appreciation, which wasn’t helping the situation at all. Swallowing to get a hold of his voice, Victor crinkled the tape in his hand. “You had tape on your backside, Mr. Katsuki. I realize now I should’ve gone a different way about helping you with it. I’m sorry.”

Katsuki immediately released him. “O-oh god, I’m so sorry Mr. Nikiforov. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to—” He covered his face in mortification.

Victor rubbed his wrist, trying to ignore that the man-handling had turned him on. “It’s alright,” he assured him. “It was my fault, really—I can’t blame you for your reaction at all. Though I’m a little hurt you’d think that I’d take advantage of my fans.”

“I didn’t—I mean—I’m _really_ sorry.” He sounded close to tears in embarrassment, which broke Victor’s heart a little.

“Katsuki, I promise it’s alright. I know you don’t think all that highly of me, and while I’m saddened by it, I understand. I had hoped that we could get to know each other better.” That hope, Victor realized, had grown exponentially since realizing that Katsuki was the model—only to deflate back to sane levels when he remembered Phichit. Phichit had warned Victor would be disappointed if he ever found the identity of the model, and Victor finally realized what he’d meant. Katsuki was firmly taken and happy in the romance department.

Well, that wouldn’t stop Victor from trying to make amends, at least. “If you want to make it up to me, Mr. Katsuki,” he told him, “you can start by calling me Victor. Mr. Nikiforov sounds so stiff.”

“If—if that’s what you want. Call me Yuuri, then.” He said it hastily, almost like it was an afterthought. “Are you… alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m fine,” Victor said, realizing he was still absently rubbing his wrist and promptly stopping. It didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t get the thrilling feeling out of his head. “You were gentler with me than I deserved.”

“I—I’m sor—”

Victor held up a hand. “No more apologies for that. It was a misunderstanding. _I’m_ sorry for interrupting your work. Who is this for?”

“A junior skater. She’s not the...” Yuuri stopped and seemed to rethink his words. “She’s a choosy client, but we think we finally landed on something she likes. It’s relatively simple, so it should only take a day for the two of us to complete once I get the patterning done. After that we’ll be starting on yours.”

“Why is the estimate so much longer on mine?” Victor wanted to know. “Not that I’m in a huge hurry; I’m just curious.”

“Stones, mostly,” Yuuri said. “The crystals should be arriving next week, and the detail work can take upwards of a week per costume on its own. That, and I’m going to be far more careful with your patterning than this one. I’ve made probably three-dozen bodices in my career, so I know how to pattern them in no time. With yours I’m a little out of my element, so it will take a little more time, probably even a few test patterns. I’m also considering using digital for your Queen costume, and that requires waiting for the new printer to come in, which should be any day now. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“Your check. I used it to buy some new equipment, including an industrial printer.”

Victor blinked, surprised at the candidness. “Oh. Well, I’m glad it went to good use.”

For the first time in his presence, Yuuri smiled. It was small, subtle, and maybe a little smug, but it was most definitely a smile. Victor’s heart did an unexpected flip, which he quickly repressed. Not allowed, he told himself sternly.

But he couldn’t deny that he liked this man. There was something about him that Victor was drawn to, something unusual, and he was eager to discover exactly what it was.

Asking someone with a boyfriend out to coffee seemed like a bad idea, but Phichit had given him permission to try. And Victor so terribly wanted to try that it almost ached.

“When do you finish work?” Victor asked conversationally.

Yuuri stiffened a little. “Whenever I get tired,” he said, almost sheepishly.

“So, you set your own schedule?”

“More or less.”

Victor bit his lip. “Would you… like to get coffee sometime?”

If Yuuri stiffened before, he practically seized up at that question. “I—I don’t… Why?”

“Because I’d like to get to know you,” Victor said honestly. “I want to make amends for what I did to you all those years ago. I want to know more about what happened.”

“I don’t think I should be going out,” Yuuri said, busying himself with his supply cart. “I’m going to be so busy in the next few weeks…”

“What if I came here, then?”

“I—what? Why would you do that?”

“I don’t want to bother you while you’re working,” Victor amended. “But if you’re reluctant to leave, I could come here and talk to you during your breaks. It would be a treat to watch you work, and I’ll pay for any extra time I take up as a result.”

“I don’t know…”

Victor could tell Yuuri was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to give up on this without pushing a little harder. Just a little more, and he would give up if Yuuri refused. “I’ll bring you food,” he offered. “Whatever you ask for, from wherever you want—within reason, of course.”

Yuuri looked skeptical. “I… How often?”

“As often as you like. Well, I do need to practice, but I’ll come once each day if you really want me to.”

Yuuri actually looked like he was considering it. “Not every day. And you have to let me pick which days.”

“I can accept that,” Victor said.

“You… really want to do this?”

“If it’s something you want, I’d be happy to,” Victor said. “It’s a fair trade, in my opinion. If you give me your number, I’ll text you each day before I leave practice to ask whether it’s okay to come over. All you have to do is say yes or no, and tell me what you want if yes. Sound alright?”

Yuuri lowered his gaze, silent for a moment, then pulled out his phone. “Alright.”

Victor didn’t linger after Phichit came back, already feeling a little guilty. There was nothing to feel guilty about, he knew, but it felt somehow _wrong_ to offer something like that to someone who was taken. It felt a little like he was trying to steal Yuuri away, which wasn’t the case, but he knew it could seem that way if he weren’t careful.

Yuuri was a grown man, Victor reminded himself. He could make his own decisions. If his presence caused problems—well, he might feel a little bad about it, but it wouldn’t be his fault. His intentions were entirely innocent.


	7. Chapter 7

“Wait, wait, wait—run that by me again. You did what?”

“I slammed him against the pillar,” Yuuri said miserably, staring down into his mug of beer. “I thought he was…”

“Yeah, we already established that you thought he was grabbing your ass,” Phichit said. “I’m just surprised you thought you could take him. Or that he let you.”

“I’m not _that_ weak,” Yuuri complained.

“No, you’re not,” Phichit crooned, reaching over and caressing Yuuri’s neck. “You’re big and strong—compared to me, anyway. Compared to him, though—he’s slender, but he’s all muscle. He could have gotten out of your hold easily. He chose not to. I wonder why.”

Yuuri downed the rest of his beer. “Probably being polite. Stupid perfect Victor.”

“So what happened after that?” Phichit asked, getting up to pour him another beer. “I’d ask if things got super awkward, but you two seemed okay when I came back.”

“I dunno. I apologized, we talked a little, and he asked me out to coffee.”

“He said he was going to,” Phichit said. “What did you say? Are you going out with him?”

“I don’t want to,” Yuuri admitted. “But…”

Phichit leaned in closer, eyes alight with excitement. “But?”

Yuuri turned away from him, face hot. “He offered to bring me food from wherever I wanted, in exchange to talk with me. I don’t know why he wants to do it, but I…”

Phichit whistled. “Damn, he’s good. He found your weakness in less than an hour.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Yuuri whined, banging his head on the kitchen table. “I don’t know what he wants from me or why he’s doing this.”

“Maybe, Yuuri, he _wants to get to know you._ Why do you think he has to have some ulterior motive?”

Yuuri knew why. It was hard to let go of the bitterness of betrayal, especially when he’d cultivated that bitterness over the past four years while making no attempt to remedy it or let it go. He expected the worst of Victor Nikiforov, and it felt like a part of him always would. “I don’t trust him.”

Phichit put a warm hand on Yuuri’s back. “What’s the harm? He comes here and brings you food, and what? You talk? Laugh? Get to know each other? What else could he want from you?”

Yuuri folded his arms beneath his head, and turned to look at his partner. “I don’t know. Maybe he wants to kill me.”

“He doesn’t want to kill you, Yuuri. Do you want my read on it, or do you want to just swim in your own doubts?”

He would probably swim in his own doubts regardless, but he trusted his friend’s opinions. “What’s your read on it?”

“He’s interested in you, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe he thinks you’re hot. He asked after ‘that model from the catalog’ in one of his emails, though I didn’t tell him who you were. Maybe a part of him recognizes you—”

“He knows now,” Yuuri said. “He recognized me the moment I took off my glasses.”

“See, there you go.”

“But there’s nothing to be interested about,” Yuuri said definitively. He drained his glass again and sighed heavily. “I’m no one important.”

“You’re important to me,” Phichit said. “But you don’t have to be important to be interesting, and there’s a lot about you that’s interesting.”

“Like what?”

Phichit swatted Yuuri’s head. “Don’t fish for compliments. But look at it from Victor’s perspective—you’re this moody costume designer that’s barely said anything to him, yet you created both his favorite costume of his career and two beautiful, detailed costumes that he’s clearly enamored with. He was pretty devastated when he learned that he’d hurt you so much, and that was _before he’d even met you._ He’s also fairly aware of the fact that you still don’t like him, so it makes sense to me that he’d want to try harder to make amends while he’s here. And I’d still bet that he thinks you’re hot.”

“He doesn’t. There’s no way.”

“Yuuri, you don’t ask after a model the way he did if you’re not interested in the way they look. Whatever his intentions are, I’ll bet you twenty dollars that he expresses attraction to you in some way while he’s here.”

Yuuri wasn’t much of a betting man, but he was tipsy and feeling just low enough to take the bet. “Fine. Twenty dollars. I’ll use it to buy more beer.”

“I’m cutting you off for the night,” Phichit said. “I don’t need you up here drinking alone and feeling sorry for yourself. Accept the fact that Victor is interested in you, and think about something else for a while.”

Yuuri couldn’t even pretend he would try to think about anything else. “Aren’t you supposed to be leaving soon?”

Phichit stood and kissed Yuuri’s head. “Just making sure you’re okay first.”

“I’m fine,” Yuuri said automatically.

Phichit frowned. “I’m taking you on your word this time, but if I find you passed out on the floor in the morning, my trust for these ‘ _I’m fine’_ s isn’t going to last much longer.”

Yuuri waved off his concern. “I’ll probably just go to bed early.”

“So boring,” Phichit pouted. He went to his desk and shouldered the bag he’d left there before heading towards the door. He stopped, turning to get one last look at Yuuri. “Heading out now. Call me if you need anything.”

Yuuri knew he probably wouldn’t call. He never liked to bother Phichit, especially on nights like this. “Say hi to Leo and Guang-Hong for me.”

Phichit smiled. “Will do!” he sang as he left.

Yuuri stared at the table in the quiet for a moment, wondering what to do next. The apartment smelled heavily of curry from their meal, Phichit’s promised khao soi sitting warmly in Yuuri’s belly. It was one of Yuuri’s favorites, lovingly cooked as a reward for letting Phichit go make copies instead of staying and taking Victor’s measurements. Phichit had even done the cleanup afterwards, though Yuuri was still unclear as to why he had insisted on making the copies himself. Was he trying to force Yuuri to be alone with Victor?

Yuuri shook his head of that thought. Phichit was probably just nervous around Victor still, and knew Yuuri wouldn’t get distracted while taking measurements. He could come up with sinister ulterior motives for Victor all day, but Yuuri couldn’t stand to be mistrustful of Phichit.

Yuuri took out his laptop to do some tedious data-type work he’d been neglecting, happy to sink his mind into something mundane but productive. But once that ran dry, he found himself at an old pastime he hadn’t done in years.

He Googled Victor Nikiforov, and read everything he could find.

Yuuri hadn’t expected to find anything awful, considering how carefully cultivated Victor’s public image was, but he also hadn’t expected to find quite so much seemingly genuine praise. When Yuuri had been a fan, most people were skeptical of Victor’s persona, so much that Yuuri had found himself arguing the man’s integrity more than once online, only to regret it later. But now that Victor was older, no longer consistently winning competitions, the media seemed to take a softer approach to the living legend. In interviews Victor often talked up the younger Russian skater, Yuri Plisetsky, diverting attention away from himself to prop up the rising star. Yuuri smiled as he recognized the diversion tactics from earlier in Victor’s career—the method was different, but the result was the same. Always easily dodging the personal questions.

Yuuri found himself sucked into a longform interview done with the man a year ago, absorbing every new detail he discovered about Victor’s life. For an hour, Yuuri felt like the obsessed fan again. He took in the man’s vague answers about his known friendship with Christophe Giacometti, the blunt honesty about his lack of love life, the surprisingly candid response about his legacy.

_“I can’t say I have anything to complain about,” Victor said with a wistful smile on his face. “But you ask if I am happy with my career, and I can’t exactly say yes. I feel like there’s no career long enough to do everything I want to do. The best I can do is hold myself to the highest standard I can manage, and hope that, by the time I retire, I can say I have no regrets.”_

Though it shouldn’t have had any effect whatsoever, Yuuri felt a mantle of pressure being rested on his shoulders. Would Victor regret choosing Yuuri to work with him on his last season? What if the costumes didn’t turn out like Victor imagined? What if he was disappointed, and ended up hating them?

Yuuri closed his laptop and went downstairs. He only turned on a single lamp at his table, the bright light casting harsh shadows across the concrete of the workshop floor. He took out his favorite pencil, opened his sketch book, and began to draw.

The one thing bothering him about his design was the pattern of crystals he’d chosen. It was a simplified paisley pattern covering a good portion of the back of the King costume, and repeating along the side of the Queen. Yuuri thought it worked well at the time, but the more he visualized the completed costume in his mind, the less it looked finished. It was a hasty choice, made when his mind was focused on other things. It was something he’d be alright with on just about any other sort of client, but with Victor, these costumes felt like a personal challenge. Victor said he loved them as they were, but Yuuri knew they could be improved without changing anything he loved.

Yuuri jolted awake from a puddle of his own drool, hearing the key scrape through the heavy lock. Phichit came through the door, and froze upon seeing Yuuri.

“You were down here _all night?”_ he scolded.

“I guess I fell asleep,” Yuuri said, looking down at his open sketchbook. Thankfully he’d pushed it aside before he’d drooled over it. “What time is it?”

“Just after 6:30. Leo had to get ready for work.” Phichit locked the door behind him, and came over. “What are you working on?”

“Oh. N-nothing important.” He closed his sketchbook with a yawn. “I just had some ideas to draw out.”

Phichit gave him that skeptical look that Yuuri was exceedingly familiar with. Surprisingly, though, he didn’t press further. “You should get up to bed for some actual rest. I was considering going back to sleep myself.”

Yuuri smiled. “Up late?”

“Always,” Phichit said with a wistful sigh. “Come on.”

Upstairs, Phichit dropped his bag by his desk and flopped face-first on the bed. “Those guys will be the death of me.”

Yuuri sat beside him. “Rough night?”

“Rough doesn’t _begin_ to describe it,” Phichit said suggestively. “Thankfully I didn’t drink as much as Guang-Hong, or I’d be a lot worse off now.”

“So Leo invited you over, even though he had to work?”

“It was a last-minute gig he got yesterday, and he didn’t want cancel on us.” Phichit turned onto his back. “Not that I’m complaining. He’s the one that has to work, not me.”

“I could give you work,” Yuuri said, teasing Phichit’s hair.

Phichit closed his eyes with a groan. “No. Sleep. I want to wake up at noon.” He looked up at Yuuri. “Cuddle with me?”

Yuuri kicked off his shoes as Phichit took off his shirt and buried under the covers. When Yuuri joined him, he snuggled back against Yuuri’s chest like he belonged there.

“What ideas were you working on?” Phichit asked after it became clear neither would sleep right away.

“I was trying to fix the crystal design for the King and Queen.”

“But Victor said it was perfect.”

“I know. He said that at the beginning, too. I want to make it better.”

Phichit pulled away and turned around. “Why are you trying so hard?”

“It’s his last season,” Yuuri said. “It’s like you said before—everyone will see it, and I want them to see my best.”

Phichit narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. “I don’t think you care much about that. You didn’t before. I think you’re trying to impress him.”

“I’m not!”

Phichit sighed and returned to Yuuri’s arms. “I think you are. I think you want to do your best for him, because if it were anyone else, you’d be well past the design process by now.”

“I’m not trying to impress him,” Yuuri insisted.

“Then you want to do your best for him for a different reason,” Phichit said. “Whatever it is, I’m not trying to tease it out of you. I’m just glad you’ve found something to be passionate about. You’ve been taking on the grunt work for so long that I was starting to wonder if you’d lost your vision.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say, but Phichit’s words sunk deep into his mind as his partner slowly drifted to sleep. Had he really lost his passion? He’d told himself that letting Phichit take care of the designs was his way of letting Phichit shine, to step aside and let his partner spread his wings for a while. But Yuuri had to admit that it had been something of a relief to do only what he knew how to do. Though he _could_ still design decent costumes, he’d lost that insatiable drive to create, and hadn’t done anything for pleasure in years.

And he hadn’t felt that pleasure since feeling the pain of his idol betraying him.

With Victor worming his way back into his life, Yuuri felt that spark again. It was small, tentative, and more than a little wary, but definitely there, and definitely keeping the wheels of his mind turning on this project. He wasn’t just going through the motions like he normally did, but actively pushing himself to do better, which was unusual in recent years.

* * *

 

As he slept that morning, Yuuri had a strange dream.

Despite not being able to see the door from the bed, Yuuri saw Victor come into the apartment unannounced, carrying a plastic bag with takeout containers. He said nothing as he put the bag on the table, then came to where Yuuri was on the bed.

Without warning, Victor kissed him, soft and sweet and full of tongue. Yuuri felt a surge of arousal almost instantly, and without skipping a beat Victor lowered to his knees and began sucking Yuuri off. There was no fanfare, no buildup—just sudden, immense pleasure. He threw his head back and put his hand in Victor’s silky soft hair, moaning incoherently with little control over his body. He came so quickly that a conscious Yuuri might’ve been embarrassed, but as it was, the orgasm simply woke him up.

Phichit had his mouth around Yuuri’s dick, sucking lightly a few more times before wriggling his way up from under the sheets. His wet lips stretched into a grin. “Good morning.”

“Isn’t it afternoon?” Yuuri asked groggily, rubbing his eyes and trying to forget the images that still lingered in his mind. “I figured you’d have gotten your fill last night. Not that I’m complaining.”

“I woke up inspired,” Phichit said. “Besides, I never really do this for you.”

“I never do it for you, either,” Yuuri pointed out.

Phichit waved it away. “That’s different.”

Yuuri didn’t see how, and Phichit didn’t seem forthcoming with an explanation, but he shrugged it off as another one of Phichit’s quirks. They got out of bed, and went through the motions as if it were a regular work morning rather than a Sunday afternoon. Phichit made coffee while Yuuri buttered toast, and they sat down at the table to enjoy it together.

“So… Victor, huh?”

Yuuri flushed. “What about him?”

“You whispered his name as you came,” Phichit said, barely containing his glee. “Were you having a dream where he—”

“No,” Yuuri lied.

“You were, or you wouldn’t be as red as you are,” Phichit said, his smile sinister. “It’s okay, Yuuri—you’re not the only one who’s had sex dreams about Victor.”

“I didn’t,” Yuuri insisted one more time, on principal.

“Okay Yuuri,” Phichit said, clearly humoring him. “But all I’m saying is _if you did,_ you wouldn’t be alone. And I’m not even talking about just myself. Guang-Hong has admitted it, too.”

“Guang-Hong has dreams about everyone,” Yuuri said. “And tells us about them when he’s drunk.”

“Oh yeah,” Phichit said with a laugh, clearly remembering. “That time he looked you in the eye and said ‘ _you fucked me last night, I remember it.’_ And you nearly passed out from embarrassment, you were so red. How come you never want to come to Leo’s with me anymore?”

“You’re all exhausting,” Yuuri said, standing up to refill his coffee mug. “I’m too old for that.”

“No, you’re just afraid of embarrassing yourself again,” Phichit accused. “You weren’t too old for it four months ago—you’re just afraid of a repeat of that strip show you put on for us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do I need to bring out the pictures aga—”

“You told me you deleted those!” Yuuri reached for Phichit’s phone, but was far too slow.

“I need them in case you betray me someday,” Phichit teased, holding his phone close. “Don’t worry, I _did_ delete the ones that showed your naughty bits. Except this really good one I got of your ass—”

Yuuri thought his head might boil over. “Phichit!”

“It’s artful, really, the way you were hanging off that pole—I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Yuuri’s threats to dig his fingers into Phichit’s sensitive sides was enough to make him drop it. “Really, though—I wish you’d come to our parties again.”

“Maybe some other time,” Yuuri said, which he knew was what he always said, but was the only real answer he wanted to give. He heard a buzz across the apartment.

“Your phone?” Phichit asked. “Weird. Is that the sound it makes when I text you? I’ve never heard it buzz like that before.”

“Shut up, yes you have.” Yuuri went to retrieve his phone, and was surprised to find a text from Victor. Phichit, too curious to contain himself, stood on his tiptoes to look over Yuuri’s shoulder.

“’What would you like to eat tonight?’” Phichit read. “He’s starting today?”

“I guess so,” Yuuri said, his brain finally waking up. “I mean, I can say no…”

Phichit put his nose to Yuuri’s neck. “Do you want to? I bet you can get him to bring you _anything._ Even from _that place._ ”

Yuuri’s mouth watered just thinking about it. He shook his head. “Too expensive and far.”

“Too expensive for _Victor Nikiforov?_ I doubt it. Too far—maybe. He doesn’t know his way around yet. I’ll have to teach him the shortcuts.”

“I don’t want to ask for too much up front,” Yuuri said. “Maybe Flaming Jack’s. Should I ask for something for you?”

“He didn’t offer for _me,_ ” Phichit said. “Don’t worry—I’ll make myself scarce before he gets here.”

“You don’t have to.”

Phichit kissed Yuuri’s neck. “I don’t want to impose on your date.”

“It’s not—”

He wrapped a hand around Yuuri’s mouth. “Someday you’re going to stop responding like this every time I tease you. Date or not, you don’t need me around. I’ve got yoga at four, and after that I’ll go check on Guang-Hong and make sure he’s not drowning in his own puke. Enjoy yourself.”

Yuuri doubted his ability to enjoy himself, but at least he’d have food.

Phichit pulled away. “What will you work on?”

“I guess I’ll start patterning,” Yuuri said. “I’ll do the King first, because that Queen is probably going to take way more work than I want to get into right now.”

“I thought you said you would do that one digitally?”

Yuuri looked down at his phone, wondering how to phrase his response to Victor. “I will. I’ll just need to reacquaint myself with the software, and it’ll require more concentration than I’ll likely have with him around. Plus he said he wanted to watch me work, and it would be boring to have him watch me hunch over my laptop and tablet.”

“So you want to put on a show for him. Present your ass from multiple angles.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. He honestly didn’t have any intentions like that with Victor, mostly because he was convinced Victor wanted nothing of that sort. There was no way he had any interest in Yuuri at all, beyond trying to make amends. He was practically a celebrity. He might’ve also had interest in learning how his costume was made, but even that Yuuri doubted. Victor probably just didn’t have anything better to do, since he was alone in a foreign city where he didn’t know anyone.

_Yuuri: Flaming Jack’s on 14_ th. _Bring me a #3, no ketchup._  
Victor: _Got it. Anything for your partner?_  
Yuuri: _He won’t be here._

Victor didn’t respond to that last message, though Yuuri hadn’t expected him to. He considered asking when Victor’s practice would be over, but decided it didn’t matter—Yuuri would lose track of time regardless, once he got started.

Yuuri began drafting pattern pieces while Phichit put the finishing touches on the junior skater’s costume, adding extra sequins and sparkly fringe where he could get away with it. Yuuri’s first step was always his sketchbook, using his well-worn reference book to determine the general shape of the pieces. After that he did calculations using formulas he’d devised himself to determine how big each piece needed to be, and where to ease into curves to accommodate a client’s body structure. Usually this required reference photos of the client in question, but Yuuri knew the image of Victor’s body so well, he hardly had to glance at a photo.

By the time Phichit left for his yoga class, Yuuri had done almost all the calculations, and double-checked everything to make sure it lined up with Victor’s measurements. He felt the pang of hunger as he unrolled a massive sheet of grid paper onto his favorite old table, but he was long used to ignoring his stomach’s complaints in favor of working more. He was just marking out his first pattern piece when he heard the buzzer sound.

Victor stood at the door, two bags in one hand, a drink carrier in the other, a hesitant but cheerful smile on his face.

Yuuri forgot how to form words for a moment. He still had trouble processing that this was _actually_ Victor Nikiforov.

Victor held out the bags. “Number three, no ketchup. I hope the fries didn’t get too cold—I got turned around on my way here.”

“I don’t mind cold fries,” Yuuri said, taking the bags and opening the door wider for Victor. “It’s the burger I’m after.”

“You didn’t specify a drink, but their lemonade looked good, so I got that,” Victor said, carefully pronouncing the word _lemonade_ as though it was unfamiliar to him. “I hope you don’t mind it.”

“I like it, actually, thank you,” Yuuri said. “I’ll drink almost anything, though. When Phichit goes out to get food, he brings something different back for me every time and challenges me to figure out what it is by taste. I guess that’s why I forgot to specify. Sorry.”

Victor just seemed mildly confused, still with that wary smile on his face. He followed Yuuri up the stairs to the apartment, but hesitated at the table. “Might I use your restroom?”

“Go ahead,” Yuuri said, gesturing, hoping Phichit had remembered to clean it last week. It wasn’t something he normally took notice of—while Yuuri liked to keep neat and tidy in general, Phichit was usually the one who did the scrubbing.

Unable to wait much longer, Yuuri dug into his bag and pulled out his food, stomach growling loudly at the smell. He waited on Victor to be polite, but snuck a few fries first. They were still pretty warm.

Victor only took a couple of minutes before he emerged and joined Yuuri at the table. As Yuuri swallowed his first bite of burger, it finally registered to him how strange this all was. Victor had hardly said anything. He was pulling the food out of his bag and examining it closely, as though it was something from another planet.

“Have you never had a burger before?” Yuuri asked, unable to help himself.

“I have, but never one quite this large, nor with quite so much bacon.” He replaced the top bun and picked it up with a shrug, taking a bite that seemed a bit too large for him. He chewed slowly, tasting it, and topped it off with a sip of lemonade after he swallowed. “It’s quite good, though I’m not sure I should finish it all. Is this something you eat often?”

“No,” Yuuri said. “I don’t—” He almost admitted he didn’t _eat_ often, but stopped himself, afraid Victor would get the wrong idea. “I don’t eat out often.”

They continued eating in companionable silence, though Yuuri became self-conscious when he noticed Victor watching him closely. He tried to ignore it, but after a while it simply became too much. “Do I have mayonnaise on my face?”

“No, no,” Victor said hastily. “Sorry. I’ve just never seen anyone eat like you before. You really enjoy your food.”

Yuuri’s face grew hot with embarrassment, some of his appetite leaving him. He chewed some fries mechanically, suddenly wishing he were alone.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that,” Victor said, clearly saddened by Yuuri’s change in demeanor. “I was enjoying watching you eat, is all. You like to eat?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Plenty of people. For some, it’s a chore. If you were like them, I couldn’t have bribed you with dinner.” He picked up a fry and pointed it at Yuuri. “So you like to eat, but you don’t eat out often. Do you cook?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Phichit does occasionally. He only knows how to make Thai food, but it’s _really good_ Thai food.”

“I’m jealous. I love Thai food. Is it your favorite?”

Yuuri twisted a fry between his fingers thoughtfully. “I don’t really have a favorite. I like all kinds of food, if it’s made well.”

“I can see this qualifies as ‘made well,’” Victor said, after another bite of his burger. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen bacon cut this thick before.”

“Right? It’s the best.” The easier mood made Yuuri’s appetite return, and he had no trouble finishing his burger. Victor, however, seemed to stop about halfway, and wrapped up the remainder.

“Where is your trashcan?” he asked.

Yuuri almost didn’t want to tell him. He looked at the wrapped-up half-eaten number three and swallowed, thinking of that delicious burger going to waste. “Would it be entirely too gross if I saved it for later?”

Victor frowned at his leftovers, and held them out to Yuuri. “I didn’t think—I won’t judge you if you want to keep it. If you don’t mind sharing my bacteria.”

“It’s worth it,” Yuuri said decidedly.

“It really was good,” Victor said, as if he had to justify himself. “I would finish it myself if I weren’t training.”

“No, I understand,” Yuuri said. He moved the half-eaten burger to a Ziploc bag and put it away in the fridge. “Americans aren’t exactly known for reasonable portions. If I ate this as often as I wanted, I’d be twice the size I am now.”

Victor gave him a long look, as if trying to imagine it. Yuuri hastily changed the subject. “Would you like to see what I’ve got so far on your costume? There’s not much, but I wanted to discuss something I was working on earlier.”

After they washed up, Yuuri took a clearly interested Victor back downstairs, and hesitantly showed him the pages of his sketchbook.

“I wasn’t happy with the crystals,” Yuuri admitted, watching nervously as Victor stared at the pages. “If you liked the originals, it’s fine, we can keep them. But I wanted to—to—”

“You did this for me?” Victor asked, touching the corner of the page reverently. “For the pattern on my costume?”

“It might take a little more time than the other one,” Yuuri had to say. “I’ll get it done as quickly as I can if you like it, so—”

“Yuuri, this is beautiful.” His blue eyes shone as his eyes raked the page. “It’s magnificent. I—I’m honestly speechless.”

Yuuri laughed nervously. “You always did like roses.”

Victor gaped at him. “You—how did you know that? I don’t think I ever said anything about it.”

“You didn’t need to,” Yuuri said, looking aside. “You just—always looked a little brighter with some roses in your arms. You always picked them up, and you liked to give them away, too. One time, you nearly cried when you received a crown of blue roses from a fan, and you wore it for all your interviews that day.”

“Yuuri—that was over a _decade_ ago. How could you possibly remember all that?”

Yuuri shrugged, unable to look him in the eyes. “I was your fan.” He turned toward his patterning table, feeling strangely exposed. He couldn’t work on drafting new pieces while Victor still held his sketchbook, so he pretended to be busy by measuring the piece he’d already drawn. Back left, twenty-two-and-a-quarter inches from shoulder to end, only gently tapered to sit over Victor’s waist. Half-inch seam allowance. Yuuri could picture precisely where it would go, where the crystal pattern would sit on the fabric once it was assembled. He supposed he could make the mirror of this piece, the back right, without a reference.

Victor sat silently for a long time, staring unseeing at Yuuri’s sketchbook whenever Yuuri glanced at him. He thought Victor might have more questions, like how it would affect the cost, or how much more time it would take, but he said nothing. It was a little eerie to be working in silence with Victor there, but Yuuri did his best to put it out of his mind while he measured out the next piece. It was always easy to sink into familiar work like this.

“I—I think I should go,” Victor said, standing up.

When Yuuri glanced at his watch, it was only an hour after Victor had arrived. Yuuri was expecting longer. “Oh. Well, if you need to…”

Victor handed Yuuri the sketchbook and made for the door.

“Tha—thank you for dinner!” Yuuri called after him hastily.

Victor glanced over his shoulder. “You’re very welcome.” And he left.

Yuuri frowned after him, wondering what had happened. Did he have somewhere he needed to be? He’d looked almost… haunted.

Then it hit him like a sack of bricks, so hard that he had to sit down. Yuuri probably sounded like a stalker. There was no way Victor could have heard him recite those “Victor’s-number-one-fan facts” and not think Yuuri was a crazed stalker. He was probably regretting ever taking an interest. He’d probably be on the next flight to St. Petersburg and would never want to be around Yuuri again.

He shook his head, realizing he was spiraling into self-doubt again. Victor probably wouldn’t go _that_ far, but he might think twice about bringing Yuuri dinner again, or spending any time alone with him.

Yuuri sighed, and pushed himself back into work, the only thing he knew that would fix his mind.


	8. Chapter 8

“Chris, I need your help.”

“ _Victor, it’s 4am.”_

“Shut up, I know you were still up anyway.”

“ _…Go on, then. What sort of help do you need?”_

“What do you do when you’re in love with a guy who’s taken?”

“ _You run as far away as you can.”_

“I did that part,” Victor said, pushing the button to summon the elevator. “Hang on, I’m getting on the elevator.”

“ _Why the hell did you—”_ He was cut off as soon as the heavy doors closed. Victor waited impatiently as it took him up to the 18th floor, heart pounding and nerves making him tense.

“Okay I’m off, are you still there?”

 _“Yes,”_ Chris said with a heavy sigh. “ _What do you mean, you already did that part? Are you in love, Victor?”_

“Yes, and I absolutely shouldn’t be,” he said, fumbling with the keys to his apartment.

“ _Who with?”_

“You remember that man in the photo?”

_“The one you traveled all the way to America to meet, only to have the door slammed in your face? Yes, I remember.”_

“Well, we had dinner tonight, and—”

“ _Wait, wait, I’m behind. How did you end up with him at dinner? How did you find him? Are you in America again?”_

“He was the designer, and I’ve been here a few days now. Did I not tell you?”

 _“Must’ve slipped your mind,”_ Chris said dryly. “ _Well, go on then. You had dinner with him—how? Was it a date?”_

“A bribe, more like.” Victor collapsed into his bedroom’s comfortable chair. “I wanted to get to know him better, to help make amends for that awful mistake, and his partner warned me he never leaves the house, so I thought I’d bring food to him. Seems to have been the right move.”

“ _Except you fell in love with him.”_

“He knew about the roses.”

_“What? How?”_

“He just… guessed. I don’t know exactly. He cited a few things that happened a long time ago, saying vague things about me looking brighter with them, or giving them away, and—”

“ _So he doesn’t_ really _know about the roses, then.”_

“No, but… I just felt really overwhelmed all of a sudden. On my costumes he was going to put a crystal pattern—originally he showed me some paisley swirl thing, which looked great as it was, but he said it wasn’t good enough. And then he shows me this beautiful pattern of roses and says all these things about how I’ve always loved them and I just… I’m lost to him, Chris. I don’t know what to do.”

“ _You said he’s taken?”_

“He lives with his partner. I’ve seen them together—they’re pretty close.”

“ _Maybe it’s open?”_

“He doesn’t seem the type.”

“ _Then give it up, Victor. You don’t need this drama in your life. You know how it goes—distance yourself until you cool off.”_

“But I don’t want to,” Victor whined. “He’s so cute.”

“ _Victor…”_ Chris said in a warning tone.

“I know, I know. But I haven’t even told you how he pinned me against a pillar.”

“ _…Do tell.”_

Victor relayed the story, much to Chris’s amusement. “ _Maybe you_ are _meant to be together.”_

“Right? The more time I spend with him, the more he appeals to me. Maybe I can just… be his friend for a while. Come back if he ever breaks up with his partner.”

“ _You play a dangerous game, Nikiforov.”_

Victor sighed heavily. “I know. I’m fucking awful. But I can’t remember the last time I met someone who was so… obliviously perfect for me.”

“ _Didn’t he hate you a few weeks ago?”_

“He doesn’t seem to now. Can’t say he’s entirely trusting, but he’s clearly willing to spend time with me.”

_“So wait—he has a partner, but you’re allowed to have dinner alone with him? Does his partner know?”_

“He encouraged it.”

“ _Smells fishy to me. If it were me—which, I can’t stress this enough, it_ never _would be—I’d do a little more digging before giving up entirely.”_

“They live together Chris—I saw their bed. It’s huge.”

“ _Huge like there’s room for three?”_

“Shut up. Don’t get my hopes up.”

_“Is the partner cute, at least?”_

“He’s adorable,” Victor said. “Not quite my type, but I can see why Yuuri likes him. Which he _does,_ by the way. They were very affectionate.”

_“Still not convinced it’s not open, but wonderfully, it’s not my problem. Speaking of partners, though, mine is complaining that I’m still up, so I’m cutting you off.”_

“So, when are you going to propose?” Victor asked cheekily.

“ _Fuck you. I don’t propose, I get proposed to.”_

“Wait, wait—are you saying—”

“ _Goodnight, Victor.”_

The quiet in the room was suddenly oppressive, making Victor feel trapped in his rollercoaster of emotions as he processed that entire conversation. He ignored that last bit for now—it was much more likely that Chris was simply teasing, rather than implying that he’d gotten engaged. But everything else…? Victor didn’t believe that Yuuri was the type to have an open relationship; there was something about Yuuri that seemed almost possessive, though he couldn’t exactly explain how he’d gotten that impression.

Chris was right, he knew—it would be better for Victor to cut ties before he got too attached. But the more he thought about it, the more painful the idea became. He still wanted to watch Yuuri work, wanted to learn what sort of person was so carefully hidden behind those blue-framed glasses, because he was sure there was more to the quiet costume maker than he let on.

He could still give him dinner without getting too close, Victor decided. There was nothing wrong with being friendly.

The next day he sent Yuuri a text before he began practice.

_Victor: What shall I bring you today?  
Yuuri: Tradesmen Gold. It’s on 8 th. I’ll eat anything from their menu, so pick what you like._

Victor did a quick Google search to figure out what the place was, though from a glance he couldn’t tell. It seemed to be some sort of fusion food, with unique items like kimchi fries and sushi burritos, but he couldn’t determine a coherent theme. A strange place, to say the least, but if Yuuri wanted it, Victor would bring it.

When he showed up at the workshop, as Yuuri called it, Yuuri snatched the bag of food out of Victor’s hand before he’d even had a chance to offer it.

“Ah, curry sandwiches!” he said excitedly. “I was secretly hoping for these.”

“You could have asked for them,” Victor pointed out.

“I wanted to be surprised,” Yuuri said, and beckoned Victor upstairs. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Victor blinked, surprised. “You are?”

“I’m so hungry. I’ve been working all day and haven’t eaten anything.”

“I—you don’t have food to eat?”

“We have food; I just haven’t eaten,” Yuuri said. He plopped the bag of food onto the table and gestured for Victor to sit. “Tea? Or maybe coffee? We also have water…”

“Tea,” Victor said automatically. “If you’ve got some of what I had before.”

“What you had… oh, Phichit’s tea. Yes, I think we have some of that left.” He opened a cabinet and dug around in it, procuring a glass jar filled with tea leaves. “This stuff is my favorite—he blends it himself to try and match something he had back home, so I’m not allowed to drink it as much as I want. Mostly reserved for guests. I think you qualify as a guest.”

“Well, I don’t live here,” Victor said, regarding Yuuri with his chin propped on his palm.

“You also flew across an ocean to get here, which I think counts for double,” Yuuri said with a cute smile. He turned on the electric kettle and scooped some tea into their teapot. “You’re supposed to watch the water so it doesn’t boil—too-hot water ruins the delicate flavor.”

“I see.”

“I’m not usually allowed to touch it. I would always get too impatient to watch the water, and Phichit would yell at me for letting it boil.” Yuuri rubbed the back of his head, mussing his hair. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I want to eat.”

“Why haven’t you eaten?” Victor asked.

“I…” He slumped forward and gave Victor a sheepish look. “I forget to. It’s a bad habit that Phichit’s been trying to break. If food is put in front of me, or if I smell something, I’ll eat, but when I’m working I usually can’t be bothered to stop.”

“I know the feeling,” Victor said.

“You do?”

Victor nodded. “If I’m too focused on training, I forget about everything else. Of course it’s impossible for me to go for too long without eating, but I neglect a lot of important things.” Like other people, Victor thought to himself.

“Phichit thinks I’m strange for working as hard as I do,” Yuuri said, eyes focused on the kettle. “But… I don’t know how to go about it any differently.”

“Sometimes I force myself to take a break,” Victor said. “If I know I’ve been pushing myself too hard, I stop and breathe for a moment. It usually isn’t until I’ve stopped that I realize how tired I am.”

“I don’t know when I’m going too hard,” Yuuri said quietly.

“Then I guess it’s good you have someone to take care of you,” Victor said.

“Yeah…” His tone was thoughtful, not exactly happy. Yuuri pulled the kettle off its base and filled up the teapot, then carried it over to the table and sat down. “Wait just a few minutes and it’ll be ready.”

Victor watched as Yuuri dove into the paper bag, opened the sandwich, and eagerly sunk his teeth into it, taking a bite that hardly fit into his mouth. He made a slight sound of pleasure in the back of his throat that shot straight to Victor’s groin, and Victor had to distract himself with his own food before he went too far along _that_ train of thought.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said, covering his mouth with a napkin. “It’s just—it’s been so long since I’ve had this, I’d nearly forgotten how good they are.”

“Don’t worry about enjoying yourself,” Victor said, unable to hold back a smile. “I’m just glad I could do something for you.”

“You should try it,” Yuuri said, nodding to Victor’s untouched sandwich. “It’s good, if you like curry. Which I assume you do, or else you wouldn’t have ordered it.”

“I ordered it because I wanted to try what you were having,” Victor said. “But you’re right—I do love curry.” He took an experimental bite, and was surprised to find his mouth flooded with a mildly spicy curry sauce alongside the grilled chicken. It didn’t look that saucy on the outside, but the inner bread had been saturated in it, and some sort of pickled greens cut through the overwhelming curry taste to compliment it perfectly. He swallowed. “This is amazing!”

“Isn’t it?” Yuuri asked with a smug grin. “Phichit doesn’t really like that place, so I haven’t had it much since I’ve moved here. But it was one of my favorite places to eat when I lived alone, which was great since I lived across the street.”

“How long did you live alone?” Victor asked, hoping to get Yuuri to keep talking about himself.

“Not all that long,” Yuuri said. “I didn’t have a roommate my senior year of college, and after I graduated I lived in that apartment on 8th until about a year ago. About three years, all things considered.”

“And that would make you… around twenty-five?” Victor guessed.

Yuuri nodded.

Victor’s eyes traveled around the apartment. “You’ve done well for yourself for being so young.”

“You’re one to talk,” Yuuri said.

The slightly-mocking laugh he gave filled Victor with a strange and sudden delight. He tried to keep it from his face. “Well, unlike you, my career has long since hit its peak, and there won’t be much left for me after this. You get to keep making costumes—I have to do something else with myself.”

“Are you unhappy about retiring?” Yuuri asked, sounding earnest in his concern.

“I think I’m ready to,” Victor admitted. “I’m not as fearless as I once was, and I feel the effect it’s having on my performances. But it’s hard to say I’m _happy_ about it. I want to keep skating, to keep competing—just not with this body.” He gave Yuuri a pointed look. “What do you think? Is it a good time for me to retire?”

“I think you should skate as long as it makes you happy,” Yuuri said. “You’re a talented performer, and even when you’re not winning, everyone keeps their eyes on you.” For a moment, Yuuri’s voice was soft and breathy with something that felt like awe. “But it would be awful to see you injured again. If you retire now, on your own terms, you can keep skating at your own pace. People will still watch you and love you like they always have, I’m sure.”

“Will you?” Victor blurted before he could stop himself.

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “I—I don’t—” He looked down at his food. “It’s still hard to—to know how to feel about it all. I was your fan for so long, and then I wasn’t. I haven’t watched you skate in years. But I’m not the type of fan you should be worried about. I think we can agree my case is pretty unique.”

Victor knew he shouldn’t have asked, knew it was still a sensitive subject that he should approach with a fine-toothed comb rather than a machete. But he’d asked anyway, his heart yearning to know where he stood with this man. The answer was less than fulfilling, but at least it was something other than outright disdain.

“Will you watch me this season, at least?” Victor tried.

“I have to,” Yuuri said, his tone sober. “I have to know what my costumes will look like when they move. That’s half the reason I create them.”

Victor couldn’t hide the disappointment at his reasoning. He wanted Yuuri to watch him for himself.

“But since it’s you,” Yuuri went on, a slight smile curling his lips, “I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself, anyway.”

It was small progress, but Victor would take it. “If I can win you over, I can win over anyone.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes and took a bite of his sandwich. “It’ll take more than some food to win me over, Nikiforov.”

Victor couldn’t get over how cute his name sounded from Yuuri’s mumbling, food-filled mouth, but he had to act slightly offended anyway.

After they cleaned up their meals, Yuuri led Victor back downstairs to the workshop, where Yuuri had pieces of thin, off-white fabric pinned to a male dressform. It was a little hard to tell under the chaos of pins, but Victor supposed he had a decent sense of what the costume might look like. The shape, at least, resembled the jacket design of the King.

“This is how far I’ve gotten,” Yuuri explained. “The body is obviously the most important part, so I always start there. I don’t always do test patterns, but when I’m using expensive fabric or making something more complex than usual, I get too anxious if I don’t make sure I’ve patterned it right.”

“Which is this one? Expensive fabric?”

“A little of both, in this case,” Yuuri said. “The pattern for the jacket isn’t exactly complex, but I have high expectations for myself on this one. I want it to be absolutely perfect. And no, the fabric we chose isn’t cheap. It’s supposed to arrive tomorrow, so I wanted to get the patterning done as quickly as possible.” He looked at Victor. “Since you’re here, how do you feel about the position of the button? I was thinking up here near the shoulder, more traditional, but Phichit thinks it might be more elegant if the panel scoops down to a point, somewhere around here.” Yuuri gestured in a curve and pointed down somewhere a bit lower on the chest. “Maybe it’s hard for you to visualize…”

“No, I think I understand,” Victor said, mimicking Yuuri’s gesture. “I think that would give it a little more personality, and match the sweeping neck of the Queen’s jacket. Do you have the button you’re going to use?”

Yuuri scrambled off into the far corner and began to dig around in the plastic drawers. “I hadn’t made a final decision yet but I was thinking… Ah, good, here it is.” He came back with a shiny silver button, and held it up to the pattern. It had a stylized black rose engraved on it. “I was thinking this one. When Phichit suggested the change to me I began to wonder if maybe we should make the panel symmetrical. Swoops down either side, one button on either end… Then maybe a chain to connect them? But I didn’t want to change too much without talking with you, first, since you loved the earlier drafts so much.”

“I… maybe you should draw it out? I want to be sure what I’m agreeing to.”

Yuuri nodded and went to a table, where his sketchbook and pencils already waited for him. He sat down and beckoned Victor over. His arm moved swiftly, creating confident, bold lines. “Here’s what we have now.” His arm moved lower and sketched out a similar bust, but the panel in the center took on a symmetrical look, with a chain connecting the two buttons on either side. “And here’s the new idea.”

“So with this new one, we’re ditching the sash?” Victor asked.

“We could keep it, but it wouldn’t look right with a symmetrical design…” Yuuri put the eraser of his pencil to his mouth, considering. “But maybe…” He began to draw again on the opposite page. The design kept the asymmetrical panel, but incorporated more of a curved line that ended in a sharp point below his shoulder. The sash rested across the other shoulder. “What about this? Is it better than the original design?”

Victor stared at it for a moment. “Do you have your original drawings handy? So I can see how it compares to the Queen?”

Yuuri rushed off to a different table and pulled it from a drawer, came back and set it beside his open sketchbook. Victor shook his head. “I think you had it right the first time. This design… isn’t bad, but it’s clearly not what you were going for. Your partner has good ideas, but I want yours.”

Yuuri stared down quietly at his drawings, unmoving for such a length of time that Victor had to look over. He didn’t return Victor’s gaze, but the tips of his ears had gone adorably pink.

More progress, Victor thought.

Victor let Yuuri get back to work without any more distractions, deciding that it was time to quit while he was ahead.

“Th-thank you again for the food,” Yuuri said as Victor approached the door.

“If you keep forgoing food to work on my things, I’ll feel like it’s my personal responsibility to keep feeding you,” Victor said, adding a wink for good measure. “I’ll be back, if you let me. Don’t work too hard.” He didn’t stick around for Yuuri’s reaction, deciding it was better to _not_ give himself a chance to look as desperate as he felt.

Safely in his rented car, Victor thumped his forehead against the steering wheel, wishing he didn’t feel this way. Why did Yuuri mean so much? Why did Victor’s heart do flips every time the man so much as curled his lips in a vague smile? It was dangerous. It was dangerous and awful and completely wrong.

He needed to cool off. As he drove away, Victor decided it would be better to stay away from Yuuri for a couple of days, to give himself some distance and time to think.

Unfortunately, outside of practice, Victor found himself increasingly bored.

He checked up on Yakov and Yuri one night, the latter smugly sending a video of a cleanly-landed quad loop. He texted with Chris another night, which ended up with the two of them teasing each other with increasingly lewd photos sent through Snapchat. Victor declared defeat after Chris sent a low-angle shot of his erect dick, a photo that he definitely hadn’t taken himself. Chris and his partner were likely playing just as much as—if not more than—he and Victor were, and it made Victor feel inexplicably lonely.

Not long after, around 1am, Victor did something stupid.

Victor: _Still up working?_

He didn’t expect a reply, but after a few minutes, his phone dinged.

Yuuri: _Just finishing up. I’ll probably go to bed soon._  
Victor: _You should.  
_ Yuuri: _Why are you still up? Isn’t it late for you, too?  
_ Victor: _I couldn’t sleep._

It wasn’t quite a lie, even if he hadn’t yet tried to sleep. He knew he’d be thinking too much to get much rest right now.

Yuuri: _A little alcohol, maybe? Usually helps me if my mind won’t shut up.  
_ Victor: _I might try that if nothing else works._

There was a pause while Victor tried to think of anything interesting to say that might keep Yuuri talking, but his mind was drawing blanks.

Yuuri: _Practice going alright?  
_ Victor: _It’s fine. Choreography is giving me a little trouble on my Free Skate, but it’s always this way at first. I like it when it’s not too easy._  
Yuuri: _You do?_  
Victor: _It’s more engaging while I’m developing it. Once I have everything pinned down, it’s just refining, which is important, but not as fun. I like it better when there are more unknowns.  
_ Yuuri: _I think I understand. Phichit loves the designing process for that same reason.  
_ Victor: _Don’t you?  
_ Yuuri: _I take more pride in my ability to be consistent and neat. In certain contexts I really enjoy designing, but not all the time.  
_ Yuuri: _The unknowns make me nervous. I feel better when I can see the end._

Victor felt like this was an important revelation about Yuuri, but it was offered so casually and easily that it felt almost like cheating the system. This wasn’t the sort of thing one normally threw out there with a barely-known friend. If they could even call themselves friends.

Victor: _So you’re not the type of person that enjoys surprises, then?  
_ Yuuri: _It’s a bit different if it’s something nice, like a surprise party or a gift, or seeing something unexpectedly beautiful. I like those things.  
_ Yuuri: _It’s more about when I’m setting myself a goal, and I can’t see it. If I can’t clearly see myself there, I can’t enjoy the path of getting there.  
_ Victor: _So what made the design process different for you this time around, then?_

Victor waited a long time for the answer, not realizing he was holding his breath until it became uncomfortable.

Yuuri: _Well for one, I wasn’t alone. I expected you to be taking one of Phichit’s designs, since he’s more creative and unique._  
Yuuri: _But probably the real reason_  
Yuuri: _I  
_ Yuuri: _I’ve been designing costumes for you in my head for half my life, more or less._

Victor put his hand to his mouth, stifling a gasp that no one would’ve heard anyway.

Victor: _You have?_  
Yuuri: _Obviously not the past few years._  
Yuuri: _But yes._

Victor was rendered speechless for a few minutes, wondering just how to respond to something so touching. Fans had done plenty of nice things for him over the years, some of them more obsessive than others, but for some reason, finding out that Yuuri had been looking at him for such a long time made him happy.

And, honestly, a little nervous.

Victor: _I’m touched._

Understatement of the century, but Victor couldn’t put his real feelings to words. He wasn’t sure the right words existed in English, or any language.

Victor: _I hope my programs can become beautiful enough to match your amazing costumes. I’m working hard, but you’ve set a high bar.  
_ Yuuri: _If it’s you, I’m not worried at all._

A part of Victor would never, ever tire of hearing Yuuri praise his skating. It made him want to do his absolute best.

Yuuri: _I hate to sound spoiled, but are you going to bring food again?_  
Victor: _Absolutely. Tomorrow?  
_ Yuuri: _Please. I’ve had nothing but sandwiches for two days.  
_ Victor: _Phichit hasn’t brought you anything?  
_ Yuuri: _He’s been busy._

Not a very good boyfriend, Victor thought pettily. Yuuri deserved to have someone take care of him.

Victor: _Then I’ll be there tomorrow after practice. I’ll ask what you want before then.  
_ Yuuri: _Thanks. I think I’m going to sleep now. Will you be alright?_  
Victor:  _I think so. Thank you for your concern.  
_ Victor: _Goodnight, Yuuri.  
_ Yuuri: _Goodnight, Victor. Sleep well._

Victor had never had such a formal-sounding conversation via text before, but even with the proper grammar and punctuation, his heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. Every taste of Yuuri Katsuki made him greedily want more. He wanted to know everything that went on in that beautiful head of his, everything about his life, what he liked, what he didn’t like, his family… Victor wanted to know it all. And he was still afraid of knowing, because no matter what else he learned, Yuuri was still taken.

With a heavy sigh, Victor plugged in his phone and tried to get some sleep. It would be a tough day at practice tomorrow.

* * *

 

Three jumps in a row ended with him flat on his face.

It wouldn’t be the worst he’d ever done—back in Russia he’d regularly have bad days at practice, and he’d simply just pick himself up and keep going, usually with Yuri’s mocks and insults counterintuitively motivating him. But here, with so many unfamiliar eyes on him, his falls shook him more than usual.

Yuuri had asked for something simple—a calzone from a place not too far from his workshop. Victor wouldn’t be eating one of those, he decided. As much as he loved to try what Yuuri liked, the heavy food would do Victor no favors right now.

Fourth try—a step out, but at least his face hadn’t touched the ice again. Better, but Victor knew not to take it as progress. A single better attempt was a fluke; consistency was progress.

As he skated over to the sidelines to take a drink of water, he noticed Guang-Hong’s large brown eyes watching him from farther down the rink. Victor smiled and waved, wishing not for the first time that Yakov were there with him. Or Yuri. Or anyone from his home rink, really. As friendly as everyone was here, Victor couldn’t help but feel alone. He stood out too much. People back home were used to him, didn’t pay as much attention like his audience here did.

“Ah, Victor!”

The familiar friendly voice called him from near Guang-Hong, and Victor plastered a smile on before turning and waving again. “Hello, Phichit!”

“I finally got a chance to come to practice,” Phichit said excitedly, coming over. A taller man with long brown hair followed behind him, wearing an open, casual suit that had obviously been tailored to his slim body. He had a camera around his neck.

Great. The last thing he needed was for pictures of this awful practice session to show up all over the internet. “No photos, if you can,” Victor said.

“He knows, don’t worry,” Phichit said. “Leo’s just here to update Guang-Hong’s social media.”

“Leo de la Iglesia,” the taller man said, holding out his hand for Victor to shake. “It’s an honor. I’ve been a fan of yours for years.”

“Ah, thank you,” Victor said. “Are you a professional photographer, then?”

Leo nodded. “I mostly work for catalogs, but figure skating is my passion.”

“What a coincidence,” Victor said with a feeble smile. “It’s mine, too.”

The joke was weak, but they laughed as if it happened to be the funniest thing they’d heard all day.

“The three of us were huge skating fans in college,” Phichit said. “That’s how we met. Guang-Hong was already competing by then, and Leo and I met at one of the regional competitions and realized we went to the same school.”

“I dropped out, though,” Leo admitted. “I was just wasting money and not learning much. I was better off on my own.”

Victor kept a polite smile, but wondered how much more he’d have to endure before he could get back to practice.

“Are you going to see Yuuri today?” Phichit asked. “He was sad when you didn’t text him yesterday.”

Now, _this_ was a subject that piqued Victor’s interest. “He was?”

“Well, unless you know him it’s hard to tell, but he kept looking at his phone all morning,” Phichit said. “He _never_ looks at his phone unless he has to, so it was pretty obvious he was hoping you’d text. I tried to tell him you were probably just busy, but he went cold and stopped looking after that.”

Victor blinked. “Oh. I didn’t know he was looking forward to it that much.”

“He won’t tell you.” Phichit sounded exasperated. “To figure out how he feels, you almost always have to read between the lines. But trust me, whatever you’re doing—he likes it. Even if he’s pretending he doesn’t.”

“I’m going to see him again today,” Victor confirmed.

Phichit smiled. “Good. He needs it.”

They left him alone after that, which was good, because Victor needed to chew on what he’d learned. Yuuri had been waiting for Victor’s text, and Victor suddenly felt guilty for trying to distance himself the past two days. But more than that, Victor felt something strange from Phichit’s encouragement. There was a hint there, an innuendo of some sort, that made Victor think that there was more going on than he understood.

He wanted to find out more, but didn’t know how to go about asking. Didn’t know _who_ to ask, really. Which of them would give him an honest answer?

The rest of practice didn’t go as terribly as the first of it, but that was mostly because Victor decided to not attempt any more jumps. His choreography was coming together slowly, but at least there he could feel the progress. He’d need Yakov’s help to refine it, but he knew he could likely get the basics of it down before returning home.

After practice, Victor decided to shower at the rink rather than go back to his apartment like he usually did, not wanting to waste time before seeing Yuuri again. He lingered in the stall for a few minutes after he’d turned off the water, letting his body drip and cool off as he gathered his thoughts.

Voices came into the area. Familiar ones. Voices that made Victor freeze in place and listen.

“Nn… Didn’t even look around first. You’re awful at this, Leo.” It was Phichit, his voice low and soft and nearly mumbling, though it still echoed throughout the locker room.

“No one’s here,” Leo said. There was a quiet moan from one of them, obviously muffled by lips. “Are you coming over tonight?”

“I’ve been over the past two nights,” Phichit said. “You’re getting greedy.”

The past two nights? Had Yuuri been alone the past two nights?

“You said he doesn’t appreciate you like I do,” Leo said. “I’ll invite Guang-Hong this time.”

“Don’t bother him with this,” Phichit said breathily. By the sounds Victor could picture Leo with his lips on Phichit’s neck. “He needs to practice. You’ve been a bad influence on him.”

“You have been too,” Leo murmured.

“Still your fault,” Phichit said. “And no, I need to take care of Yuuri. He’s been lonely lately.”

“Isn’t Victor seeing him tonight? Does he really need you?”

“Mmm… I don’t like being distant. You know how he gets.”

“I think you should ditch him,” Leo said. “He’ll be fine.”

“I still think you’re being greedy with me.”

“Can you blame me?”

Phichit gasped, obviously being touched in a way he liked. From there, there wasn’t much talking, just the soft sounds of mutual pleasure echoing through the locker room.

“A—ah, that’s enough, Leo.”

“So you want to come back with me tonight?”

“You sure know how to manipulate me,” Phichit whined. “Fine. But you have to let me check in on Yuuri at some point. I won’t have you stealing my phone again.”

“It’s a deal,” Leo said in a low voice. There was more kissing, and the sound of a door, like they’d left.

Victor released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Just _what_ was going on? Was Phichit cheating? Was that why he wanted to encourage Victor to spend time with Yuuri?

It made sense. If Phichit was trying to distance himself to end their relationship, it was only beneficial to encourage Victor to get closer to Yuuri. Victor suddenly felt dirty again, like he needed another shower. He didn’t want to be a pawn in Phichit’s game, whatever it was.

There was only one sane way to deal with this. He just had to make sure he could find the courage to do it.

* * *

 

“Oh god, the smell,” Yuuri said with a groan. “It’s been too long.”

“How long?” Victor asked, following Yuuri upstairs.

“Maybe a month? I don’t keep track. Really, any time is too long. I love these.”

Yuuri put out water and tea without asking, clearly getting used to Victor as a guest. He frowned at Victor as he sat down. “A salad? I guess I’ve probably been ruining your diet lately.”

“You’re fine,” Victor assured him. “I was just off my stride a little today, so I figured I should go with a healthier option.”

“What happened?” He seemed genuinely concerned, which made Victor’s heart swell.

“I just couldn’t land my quad loop,” Victor said dismissively. “It was discouraging, but not unusual.”

“Everyone has their off days, I suppose,” Yuuri said. “Even living legends.”

Victor gave a crooked smile. “I hardly feel like a living legend anymore.”

“A declining career doesn’t erase what you were,” Yuuri said. “And a flubbed jump won’t erase what you are. You’re a living legend to a lot of people, still.”

Victor was used to praise, used to hearing compliments from fans so often he couldn’t internalize them anymore. But Yuuri’s words hit him close to his heart, so deeply it made him shudder.

“Is it cold in here?” Yuuri asked. “I turned on the AC earlier since it was kind of stuffy—”

“It’s fine,” Victor said. “I’m fine. Just…” How could he describe what he was feeling without giving the whole thing away?

“Just what?” Yuuri’s eyes were wide, curious, concerned.

Victor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Yuuri’s concerned look didn’t fade, however, even as he clearly enjoyed his calzone.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“I can’t promise to answer," Yuuri said. "But I won’t get mad if you ask.”

“Is…” Victor hesitated, unable to look closely at Yuuri. “Are you and Phichit… together? I ask because I overheard him with another man today, and they were…”

Yuuri waited, but Victor couldn’t really find any more words. He knew he shouldn’t be asking, knew it was none of his business, _knew_ he shouldn’t be concerned, but he couldn’t help himself.

To his surprise, Yuuri laughed. “He was there with Leo, right? Or Guang-Hong?”

“Leo.”

“I guess I should have expected something like this,” Yuuri said, a strange smile on his lips. “I hardly think about how it might look to the outside observer. With you, I sort of forget about it entirely.”

Victor was still confused, but at least Yuuri wasn’t upset. He could find some relief in that much.

Yuuri leaned back in his chair. “Phichit and I… How do I explain it? We weren’t really romantic at first. I asked him to move in because he had no other place to go after college, and I knew he couldn’t support himself with what I could pay him. So we just happened to share an apartment, and we worked together every day. Phichit’s the type of person who gets really close to people he spends time with, so it was only a matter of time before things got a little more… physical. He’s affectionate. He cares about people he’s close with. So I can see how you might’ve gotten the idea he and I are together.”

“So you don’t… have sex, or anything?” Victor realized what he asked a second too late. “A-ah, I didn’t mean to ask something so personal, I—”

“We do,” Yuuri said bluntly. “Not often, but we have on occasion. But I’m not his boyfriend. Leo’s more the boyfriend-type to him, but they’re not exclusive, either. From what I gather, Guang-Hong is pretty involved, too.”

“So…” Victor tried to process this while he thought of how to phrase his next question. “You’re free to date, then?”

Yuuri’s face turned a satisfying shade of pink. “I don’t really date. I don’t go out.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t—I don’t have much fun when I leave the workshop. Phichit tried to get me to go clubbing with him more than once, but I just end up tired and miserable.”

“What about a quiet restaurant?” Victor asked. “Has anyone taken you out for that sort of date?”

“I haven’t… dated anyone,” Yuuri said, clearly embarrassed by that fact. “I’ve been asked out, in college, but I always panicked and said no. Phichit never was really interested in dating me, so we didn’t do anything like that, either.”

Victor tilted his head. “What a shame.”

“I just want to work,” Yuuri said. “It’s… I feel like I only get fulfillment when I’m doing work, when I see my finished costumes.”

“You sound like me five years ago,” Victor said, amused. “I thought all I needed from life was my skating. As long as I kept skating, I could keep going. I didn’t need anything, or anyone else to come between me and what I loved.”

“And what changed?”

“I woke up one day and realized that’s _all_ I had, and became struck with the fear of losing it.” Victor pushed around his salad, suddenly not hungry at all. “I’ve managed to push it aside since then, but now I’m sort of forced to confront the fact that I don’t have anything else.”

“I thought you were with Giacometti?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I—” Yuuri looked down, shamefaced. “It was a guess. You were never really close to any of the other competitors but him. He seemed… special to you, somehow.”

“He _is_ special. But in the same way you aren’t with Phichit, I’m not with Chris.”

“Eh? So you’re…”

“It’s complicated,” Victor said. “And not something I’d like to get into on the first date.”

“Wait, wh-what do you—”

Victor smiled. “This is our first date, isn’t it? Since we’ve both finally established that we’re single, at least in the ways that matter. Unless you don’t want to?” Oh, Victor hoped so much that he wanted to.

Yuuri turned bright red, his eyes shifting around, unsettled. “I don’t…” He took a deep breath. “Okay. If—if that’s what you want.”

It took all of Victor’s willpower to not explode with excitement right then. He reached forward and brushed his fingertips against the back of Yuuri’s hand. The man flinched, but didn’t pull away. “I do. I find you interesting. I find your work beautiful. I want to know you, in all the ways you’ll let me. That is, if you can forgive me for hurting you so deeply.”

“I already have,” Yuuri said, smiling a little. “You make it hard to hold a grudge when you practically throw yourself at my feet. I just…”

“Just what?”

Yuuri shook his head. “No. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Yuuri bit his lip, but eventually gave in. “Where can this conceivably go? We date… If it goes well, then what? You’re returning to Russia, I’m staying here with my business. I can’t think of any other way it could end.”

“There are many ways it could end,” Victor said. “But let me say this now:  If we decide this is worth holding on to, I will move mountains and swim oceans to keep it. All I would need from you is patience.”

Yuuri’s perpetual flush got somehow deeper. “I—I’m nothing if not patient.”

“Then we’ll worry about that if we get to it,” Victor said decidedly, unable to keep the smile from his lips. It had been years since he’d felt such joy, such excitement. He suddenly felt like there were a million things he wanted to say and do. He began with one of the first things he’d held back saying to Yuuri. “Can I just say… Those catalog photos were some of the sexiest images I’d ever seen.”

“Wh-what? No way. That can’t possibly be true.”

“It’s true,” Victor said, a little sad that Yuuri couldn’t see it. “I wasn’t the only one who thought so, either. Christophe agreed with me, and he’s the King of sexy. He said it was a shame you were never a skater, because you could’ve given him a run for his money, and he’d have been glad for it. Even Yuri seemed to like them, and he hates just about everybody.”

“Yuri…? Wait, you don’t mean— _Plisetsky?_ ”

Victor nodded solemnly. “Poor kid is still figuring out what he wants, but I could tell he was into those photos. Don’t be surprised if he comes to you with a commission request someday. He might yell in your face, but that just means he likes you and doesn’t know how to react.”

Yuuri laughed nervously. “I don’t know how much I believe you.”

Victor smiled. “You don’t have to, but I’m just speaking the truth. I actually showed up at your doorstep because I wanted to find out more about those photos. Of course I loved your designs, too, but I thought I could kill two birds with one stone while I was here.”

“I’m… still sorry for closing the door in your face.”

“I don’t hold it against you—not after learning what happened,” Victor said. “I deserved it. I hope my performances this season can make it up to you, at least a little.” He paused, just for a second. “And—it should go without saying, but if this little experiment of ours doesn’t end all that well, I’m still going to buy and wear your costumes. I don’t want you to feel pressured into putting up with me if you decide you don’t like what’s happening. You have my business, no matter what.”

“You…you seem to have given this a lot of thought,” Yuuri said, voice shuddering slightly with nerves.

Victor reached out and touched Yuuri’s chin, prompting him to meet Victor’s eyes. “I’ve thought about little else since I saw you again. I wanted you, however much you would let me have, and it makes me so happy to know you might want me a little in return.”

Yuuri swallowed, and Victor pulled away to give him space. “I don’t really get it, but I… I just hope you’re not putting your expectations too high. I’m not really good at this sort of thing. Phichit can tell you.”

“I don’t care about what Phichit thinks,” Victor said bluntly. “I’ll come to my own conclusions about you.”

“So if we… if we start dating, where does Phichit fit into all of this? I can’t just kick him out without notice.”

“Do what you think is best,” Victor said. “If it’s easier on you to continue to share a bed with him, I won’t hold it against you. Can I trust you to not have sex with him?”

“Of course!” Yuuri cried. “We’re not—it’s not something we did very often, anyway.”

“Good,” Victor said, pitching his voice lower. “Because by the time we reach that point, I’ll want to know I have you all to myself.”

Yuuri’s breath hitched in a way that Victor immediately fell in love with. He still had no idea how compatible they’d be in the bedroom, but Victor was determined to make it work.

“And—and you and Giacometti?”

“I promise you I will not have sex with Chris as long as we are dating,” Victor declared. “Nor will I send him nude photos, but I offer no promises from him.”

“N-nude—just what sort of relationship do you have with him?”

“A very good one,” Victor said. “I’ll tell you the details someday.”

Yuuri seemed confused, but nodded anyway. “O-oh. Okay.”

Victor smiled at Yuuri, and Yuuri gave a tentative smile back. “Finished eating?”

Yuuri nodded. “I should probably get back to work.”

“Shall I go, then?” Victor asked reluctantly.

“I seem to recall you saying you wanted to watch me while I made your costume,” Yuuri said. “So far, you haven’t watched me do much. You should stay today and watch your jacket come together.”

“Well, I can’t possibly say no to an invitation like that.”

Yuuri didn’t speak much while he worked, but Victor thought he didn’t have to. Somehow, even with Victor watching him, he was able to focus so intensely on his work that he seemed oblivious to the rest of the world. Yuuri pinned and sewed piece after piece while Victor watched, enraptured despite the repetitive, mundane nature of the work.

It grew late without Victor noticing, and Yuuri held out what he’d completed. It looked to be most of the jacket, minus the sleeves, and Victor was captivated by how quickly it had all happened. Yuuri pinned it to the dressform, and beckoned for Victor to get a closer look.

“The panel will attach here with a button, obviously,” Yuuri said. “At this point I need to line it, but I think I’ll start on that tomorrow. It’s a bit late for me to cut fabric.”

“Can I see what you’re using for lining?” Victor asked.

Yuuri walked off and came back with a bolt of silvery white fabric. “I was thinking this. It’s my go-to for high-quality competition costumes, since it breathes well.”

Victor touched it. “It’s softer than any other lining I think I’ve had. And I’ve paid for some high-quality costumes.”

“A lot of people don’t like to use it, since it’s kind of finnicky and expensive. But I’ve used it enough times to know how to get it to do what I want.” He spoke with a confidence that was rather attractive, in Victor’s opinion. A far cry from the trembling, nervous man he’d been a few hours prior. “So… do you like it, so far?”

Victor looked closely at the jacket, made from a slightly shimmering, snowy white fabric with a near-invisible flowing design on it. He imagined it on himself, gliding across the ice as easily as if he were an extension of it. “It’s as beautiful as I could have imagined, and I know it will only get more so. I can’t wait to see it finished, but I’m enjoying watching you work.”

Yuuri flushed and smiled, his pleased expression nearly as beautiful as the jacket. “Thank you for staying. I work better with someone around.”

“How come your partner isn’t with you today?” Victor asked.

“I—that’s my fault, actually,” Yuuri said. “I wanted to do your costumes myself, and there’s not much else for him to work on except dealing with inquiries and design work for future costumes. So he’s on a sort of half-vacation right now.”

“Seems lonely,” Victor said. “Shall I come back tomorrow and keep you company?”

“You’re welcome to come whenever you like,” Yuuri said, eyes shining with something that looked like hope. “Especially if you bring food.”

Victor laughed. “You’re easy to please.”

“I have my small comforts,” Yuuri said. He put away the bolt of fabric. “You should probably go back and get some sleep. Don’t you practice early?”

“I run early,” Victor said. “Practice comes after. But yes—as reluctant as I am to leave, I should.”

Yuuri came back, and slowly led Victor to the door, like he was hesitant to let him leave just yet. “Thank you again for the food.”

“Treating you is fun,” Victor said. He stopped in the open doorway, and turned around. “Goodnight, Yuuri.”

Yuuri looked up at him, or tried to, his eyes constantly darting to the side. “I—Goodnight, Victor.” He came forward, and gave Victor a hesitant kiss on the cheek, just a slight brush of lips that burned when he pulled away.

The door closed on Yuuri’s shining, beautiful brown eyes, and Victor had no choice but to leave. He’d never had a more difficult drive to his apartment, his mind unable to focus on anything but that tiny kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

“Breathe.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Deep breaths now. In… and out… in… and out…”

Yuuri did his best to mimic him, and while it helped him calm down enough to think, he still thought he might throw up or pass out.

“Better?” Phichit asked.

“A little.”

“Keep breathing. Try to tell me again what happened. In complete sentences, this time.”

“We’re… dating.”

“You and Victor?”

Yuuri could only nod. He leaned back, tilting his head to rest on the back of the couch, but Phichit gently nudged him forward again.

“How did it happen?”

“He… asked about me and you… Apparently he overheard you and Leo yesterday.”

Phichit cringed. “Oops.”

Yuuri waved it off. “I explained it all. At least… I think I did.”

“Well, here’s hoping that in whatever version you told him, I didn’t end up looking like a whore,” Phichit said with a nervous laugh.

“Of course not!” Yuuri cried. “Victor… wasn’t all that interested in that, it seemed. Once he established I was single… he said we should be dating. And I said… okay.”

“Okay? That’s all?”

“I mean… yes? What was I supposed to say?”

Phichit shook his head. “I don’t know, just seems like such a mild reaction to being asked out by _Victor Nikiforov._ But maybe that’s just me. I’d be bouncing off the walls if someone like _that_ asked me out.”

“You think… this… is a mild reaction?” Yuuri asked, his breath increasing in rapidity.

“Slow down,” Phichit said soothingly. “Alright, maybe you just held it together until this morning. Did anything bad happen?”

“No. It was… nice. I almost… kissed him.”

“Almost?”

“I panicked… at the last second. Just a… kiss on the cheek.”

“So you _wanted_ to give him more of a kiss than that?”

Yuuri gave him a look of disbelief. “I’ve wanted to kiss him since I was thirteen.”

Phichit giggled. “I forgot you told me that.”

“I was such an idiot, though,” Yuuri said, starting to feel a little more normal. “Probably would’ve been better off not even trying. He probably thinks I’m some innocent, chaste virgin.”

“I doubt he thinks that at all.” Phichit’s arms snaked around Yuuri’s middle. “I’m so happy for you.”

“It’s probably not going to last,” Yuuri said, sighing into his friend. “He’ll probably realize that I’m really boring, and decide it’s not worth it to date me.”

Phichit lightly clamped his teeth onto Yuuri’s ear, making him wince. “Shut up with those ‘probablies’. You’re a catch, and he’s going to learn just how amazing you are in no time at all. Otherwise, he’s an idiot. Stop doubting yourself, Yuuri. He clearly likes you.”

“I have no idea why.”

Phichit bit him again, harder, making Yuuri cry out. “Let him figure that out. Maybe he’ll let you know someday.” He pulled away. “By the way, you owe me twenty dollars.”

“Wha—oh.” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“Good thing I didn’t, then,” Phichit said cheerfully. “Will you be alright? Your breathing seems normal again, at least.”

Yuuri smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Sorry for pulling you away from Leo.”

“I was looking for an excuse to leave anyway. That guy’s been so clingy lately, I don’t know what his deal is.”

Yuuri turned, settling so he could more comfortably face his friend. “Are things getting too serious?”

“I don’t know,” Phichit said. “I don’t know if I should be worried yet. He could just be feeling lonely.”

“And you’re still not sure if you want things to go further?”

Phichit nodded miserably. “He’s great, and I love Guang-Hong, but I can’t see it working out between us. I just… don’t know how to navigate between the two of them. We have fun, but I feel like the moment it steps beyond ‘fun’ is the moment we realize it can’t work out and we fall apart. I’m scared to lose them. I love them both.”

“Maybe you three should talk things out,” Yuuri suggested. “Without alcohol, for a change. I know you’re afraid, but it’s hard to imagine them wanting something that doesn’t end with you three still being friends.”

“I know…” Phichit whined, leaning into Yuuri. “It’s just too easy not to think about it when I’m with them. I want to enjoy myself, you know?”

“I understand,” Yuuri said, putting an arm around him. “But this isn’t going to get better on its own. Talk about what you want.”

“The trouble with that is that I don’t _know_ what I want. I like what we have. I don’t necessarily want that to change, but I know, at some point, it has to. And whatever direction we choose isn’t going to be perfect. Either one of us leaves, or we all do…”

“Why does it have to be that way?” Yuuri asked. “Why can’t the three of you stay together?”

“And what, we’re like… a thruple?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing so far?”

Phichit shook his head. “I mean, sort of—but to call it something like that means that it’s more serious than it is. Right now it’s been us getting drunk and fooling around.”

“You also hang out, look after each other, go to dinner…”

“Like friends do,” Phichit said.

“Right,” Yuuri said. “But it’s also what couples do. Leo likes to surprise you both flowers. You cook for the two of them. The three of you know each other so well you finish each others’ sentences. I obviously don’t know everything, but you all seem pretty compatible. I don’t see why you couldn’t make something a little more committed work between you.”

Phichit went quiet for a moment. “I don’t know, Yuuri. I don’t know how they would feel about that.”

“That’s why you talk to them and figure it out,” Yuuri said with a squeeze. “And if you’re worried about me kicking you out of the apartment before you’re ready, don’t be.”

“I didn’t think you’d—are you sure?” Phichit asked. “Would Victor be alright with that?”

Yuuri nodded. “He said I should do what I think is best, and what’s best is that you don’t feel like I’m kicking you out.”

“But I don’t pay any rent,” Phichit reminded him. “I could easily stay with Leo or Guang-Hong.”

“And you should, if that’s what you want to do. But you always told me how you loved seeing this place as your home, and I don’t want my dating to take that away from you.”

“I would hate for it to put a strain on your relationship…”

“We don’t have a relationship yet,” Yuuri said. “But if he can’t trust me to be faithful while still living with my friend, he’s not worth much to me. I won’t be having sex with you anymore, but this is your home until you make one somewhere else.”

Tears pooled in the corner of Phichit’s eyes, falling silently down his cheeks. “You’re too good to me, Yuuri.”

“You’ve been good to me, too,” Yuuri said, letting Phichit turn to bury his face in Yuuri’s chest. “You’ve looked after me when I’ve proven incapable of looking after myself, and no matter what happens going forward, you’ll always be my best friend.”

“Victor doesn’t know what he’s getting,” Phichit said in his watery, muffled voice. “Don’t you ever let him hurt you. I’ll kill him with my bare hands if he does.”

“I think getting charged with murder might not be worth it…”

“I mean it, Yuuri,” he said, lifting his head to meet Yuuri’s eyes. “I’ll do it. You watch me.”

Yuuri pushed Phichit’s head back down, shushing him. “I believe you, but don’t. Nothing he could do could hurt me more than he already has, and I got over that without anyone getting arrested. I appreciate the sentiment, though. It’s good to know I’ll have someone on my side.”

“Always, Yuuri.”

Yuuri dozed with Phichit in his arms, finally catching the sleep that had eluded him the night before. Sometime later, his phone buzzed in his pocket, waking up the both of them.

“He texts you so early,” Phichit said groggily.

“It’s noon,” Yuuri said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Later than usual.”

Victor: _Could I interest you in dinner out, tonight?_

“Oh shit.”

Phichit got up and rubbed his eyes. “What is it?”

“He wants to take me out.”

“And?”

“What if he wants to go somewhere… nice? I don’t have anything to wear even _resembling_ nice.”

“So borrow some of my clothes,” Phichit said with a yawn.

“I don’t—that would feel weird.”

Phichit looked sharply at Yuuri, a grin slowly emerging on his face. “Are you saying—”

Yuuri knew where this was going, and put out his arms in protest. “No! I didn’t say anything!”

“Shopping!” Phichit sang, dancing around the apartment. “I get to take Yuuri shopping!”

Yuuri winced, knowing there was nothing he could do to take it back now. “I need to work…” he tried, weakly.

“No, you need _clothes!_ And that means shopping! Come on, let’s go now!”

“Can I at least eat first?” Yuuri asked.

“They have food at the mall.”

“Then, a shower…”

“I just slept on you; you smell fine.” Phichit pulled him off the couch. “Let’s go! We don’t have much time!”

“But—I haven’t even set up the date yet.”

“Do it on the way!” He grabbed Yuuri’s wallet and pushed it into his hands, and snatched the car keys off of the hook by the door. “I’ll drive.”

Yuuri groaned.

He always claimed to hate shopping, but it had honestly been so many years since he’d done it that he’d forgotten why he hated it. He’d never let Phichit take him out before, despite his friend’s many enthusiastic requests, but after being pushed around a department store for a couple hours, Yuuri found it wasn’t all that bad. Exhausting, for sure, and intensely embarrassing at times, but Phichit ran the show like he knew exactly what he was looking for.

Yuuri always loved that about him.

Outfit after outfit went into the rejection pile, Yuuri not even bothering to look in a mirror before Phichit gave his evaluation. Pieces were swapped occasionally, but few held up to Phichit’s rigorous standards.

By the end of the whole thing, Yuuri only had two new outfits and a pair of shoes.

“This should be enough for right now,” Phichit said as they checked out. Yuuri only glanced at the prices, trying not to think too hard about the whole thing. “Two nice outfits is pretty standard for guys who don’t go out all the time, and I don’t think Victor will hold it against you if you have to wear the same thing twice.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Phichit,” Yuuri said gratefully.

“I do my best,” Phichit said modestly. They left the store with bags in tow. “So, when’s your date?”

Yuuri went suddenly cold, realization hitting him like a sack of bricks. “Oh god.”

“You never texted him back?” Phichit cried. “Yuuri!”

“Oh god,” Yuuri said again, feeling the edges of his vision go a little dark. He pulled out his phone, hands trembling. “I forgot.”

“I’ll bet you have read receipts on, too,” Phichit said dully, shaking his head. “You’re bad at this.”

“Oh god,” he said a third time, unable to put his fingers to the keyboard. “What must he think? It’s almost five-thirty!”

“Calm down, Yuuri,” Phichit said. He glanced around, and pointed to an empty bench nearby. “Let’s sit down and figure this out, okay? It’s going to be alright.”

How could it be alright? Yuuri was so terrible at dating that he _actually_ _forgot to respond to his date._ How could he ever expect to hold together a relationship with anyone if he was so forgetful, especially with someone as used to constant attention as Victor Nikiforov?

“Yuuri, you’re spiraling again,” Phichit said unhelpfully. “Here, give me your phone. I’ll make it better.”

Yuuri handed it over without thinking, squeezing his middle and leaning over to take deep breaths. What if he’d already screwed it up? What if Victor thought he wasn’t worth it?

“There, done.” Phichit shoved the phone into Yuuri’s face. Yuuri reluctantly took it and read the texts.

Yuuri: _I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. I saw your text, but my phone died before I could respond.  
_ Yuuri: _If you still want to go, is 7:30 alright?_

“I can’t stand how you two talk in your texts,” Phichit complained. “But I tried to mimic that formal way you type. Should be alright, don’t you think?”

“It’s a weak excuse,” Yuuri said.

“If he likes you enough, he won’t care,” Phichit said. “He’ll just be relieved you finally said something.”

“I feel like I’m just wasting his time.”

Phichit threw his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Let him decide that, yeah? Let’s get back so we can get you all dolled-up.”

“’Dolled-up’? Exactly how old are you?”

“I might’ve watched too much ‘I Love Lucy’ when I was learning English,” Phichit said dismissively. “Come on.”

Back in the apartment, Yuuri showered and shaved off the small amount of stubble he’d acquired in the past couple of days. He couldn’t grow a beard at all, but the few hairs that did grow were annoyingly persistent.

When Phichit approached the bathroom with a familiar bag in tow, Yuuri frowned. “I’m not doing makeup. This isn’t a photoshoot.”

Phichit deflated so much that Yuuri almost felt bad for rejecting him. “At least do some moisturizer. It’ll make your face all soft, in case he rubs up against it.”

“I doubt he will,” Yuuri said, but he accepted the little bottle from Phichit anyway. “Did my phone buzz while I was in the shower?”

“He asked where you wanted to go, so I told him.”

“Told him what?”

Phichit smiled conspiratorially. “The place.”

“The place? What pl—” Yuuri realized what he meant. “No. You didn’t.”

“Why not? It’s your _favorite_. We haven’t been since last November; what better place to have your idol take you on a date?”

“I didn’t want—it’s too expensive.”

“No, it’s not. Not for the man dropping thousands of dollars on your work. I think he can handle thirty-dollar plates for one night.”

Yuuri decided that, if it came to it, he’d offer to pay for himself. It really was asking too much for a “second” date.

He put on Phichit’s moisturizer, toweled off his hair, and got dressed. Phichit had already taken off the tags for him.

“Do you have contacts?” Phichit asked, scrutinizing him. “I’ve never seen you wear them.”

“Last ones I had dried out,” Yuuri said. “I’m too careless for contacts.”

“Hmm. How about we push back your hair, at least? Show more of that handsome face of yours.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Yuuri complained, but let Phichit spread some mousse in his hair anyway.

“I like dressing you up,” Phichit said. “How come someone who creates such beautiful costumes can’t see his own beauty?”

“Because I don’t think about myself when I create,” Yuuri said simply. “It’s pouring myself out, rather than taking it in.”

“You should have more of a balance,” Phichit said, his fingertips gently teasing Yuuri’s hair. “You should be like one of those couture designers, with the big sunglasses and eccentric, but fashionable clothing you designed specifically for yourself.”

“Too much work,” Yuuri said. “Plus, no one should care about me. My work stands on its own.”

“If I know anything about celebrities, it’s that the more people want to be like you, the more they’ll buy your stuff.”

Yuuri couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be like the trainwreck he was. It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to be a celebrity, anyway.

“There,” Phichit said, and turned to wash his hands. “You have such good hair.”

Yuuri examined himself in the mirror, turning this way and that to see different angles. It really did accentuate his jawline when he pushed back his hair.

Phichit rummaged around in his makeup bag. “Please, oh please let me do just a tiny bit of gloss.”

“I don’t know…”

“You want to kiss him, don’t you? Just a little shine, he’ll be thinking about those lips all night.”

Yuuri consented with an inward sigh. It really was too much, but he didn’t want to keep disappointing Phichit by saying no. And he honestly _did_ want to kiss Victor, if only to make up for his failed attempt last night.

“Okay,” Phichit declared. “I think you’re ready. Go stand in the full-length mirror to make sure.”

Yuuri complied, feeling embarrassed at how much fuss this all took. But in slacks and a waistcoat, even _he_ could admit he looked much better than his usual, everyday self. Maybe not as sexy and suave as Victor Nikiforov, but someone who wouldn’t look entirely out of place beside him.

Phichit came up behind him, whistling. “I’d date you in a heartbeat.”

“You said you never wanted to.”

Phichit huffed. “Excuse me, Katsuki, _you_ never wanted to date _me._ I can only take so much romantic disinterest. Besides—it’s clear I wasn’t right for you, anyway. I’m not tall or Russian enough.”

Yuuri swatted at him. “Stop.”

“Deny it all you want, Yuuri—you wouldn’t have put up with all of this for anybody else.”

Yuuri wouldn’t deny it, because even if he wanted to, it wouldn’t be the truth. He’d never allowed himself to truly believe that he could ever get close to Victor, but he’d long fantasized about how it _could_ happen, how he might catch the skater’s eye and be swept off his feet. Yuuri still had extreme doubts that Victor would find much to like about him, but he couldn’t suppress that tiny bubble of hope that this could be something.

And it was all terrifying. Paralyzingly so. He was certain that, before the end of the night, he’d say or do something to pull it all down.

“He’ll be here soon,” Phichit called from the kitchen. “Are you ready?”

Yuuri looked at himself one more time in the mirror and swallowed. He certainly didn’t feel ready, but there was nothing else to be done. “I think so.”

Phichit came over with a gentle smile, putting a warm hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “He likes you, Yuuri. Remember that. Here, put on some of this. I always thought it made you smell really good.”

Yuuri looked at the glass bottle of cologne. It was Versace Eros, a bottle he’d bought in college and had only used for maybe two occasions he could remember. He rubbed a small amount on his neck and wrists.

The buzzer sounded, and Yuuri stiffened. Phichit had to steer Yuuri down the stairs, open the door, and practically present him to Victor.

Yuuri came back into himself just in time to see Victor’s widened eyes giving Yuuri a long look.

“You look radiant,” Victor said, a touch of surprise in his voice.

“Th-thank you. You—you too.” And it was true, though it was hard for Yuuri to pay attention to what the man was wearing when his handsome face did all the work for him. The clothes were dark, simple, and matched Yuuri’s own in formality, cleanly fitting Victor’s body in a way that they wouldn’t be noticed.

“I’m going to be at Leo’s tonight,” Phichit said to Yuuri with just a slight hint of suggestion in his tone. “You two have fun!”

“If you’re ready to go…” Victor said, offering his arm in a decidedly old-fashioned way. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile.

Yuuri tentatively put his hand on the crook of Victor’s elbow. “Sure.”

Though the physical connection was nice, Victor’s car was parked just across the street, and Yuuri was forced to let him go sooner than he’d liked. He’d expected someone like Victor to have rented a luxury car to get around, like a Ferrari, but Victor put himself behind the wheel of a far more practical Prius. It was nicer than the car Yuuri shared with Phichit, but it wasn’t what anyone would call fancy.

“So this place… Is it a favorite of yours?” Victor asked, carefully pulling onto the road.

“Oh. Er—yes. It’s actually my favorite place.”

“You go there often?”

“Not at all. It’s too exp—I prefer to keep it to special occasions. I haven’t been since November.” Yuuri cringed. He really didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he thought it was expensive, lest Victor think Yuuri was just using him for food. He was supposed to have asked for this place, after all.

Victor stopped at a red light and gave him a sidelong glance. “What happened in November that was a special occasion?”

“Oh, my—my birthday is in November.”

Victor smiled. “I see. What day?”

“The 29th.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Victor said, and started driving again.

Yuuri felt his insides hum pleasantly at the thought of Victor remembering his birthday. Yuuri of course would never forget _his_ birthday—one didn’t need to be a die-hard fan to remember that Victor’s birthday fell on Christmas. Yuuri flushed as he remembered, a few times in his youth, quietly and secretly celebrating Victor’s birthday with a cake he’d baked himself, covering it with sugar roses and carefully writing Victor’s name in Russian.

That was a secret he’d never told anyone—not even Phichit. A secret so embarrassing he swore he’d take it to the grave.

The restaurant was a good thirty-minute drive from the workshop, not counting the time it took Victor to find parking. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice how carefully he maneuvered the car—a far cry from Phichit’s often reckless driving—and it absurdly made him feel safe, like Victor was taking care of him. The man was likely looking out for his own body as much as Yuuri’s, but the feeling was hard to shake.

Victor got lucky and found a spot on the street just a block away, and they walked side-by-side to the restaurant.

Yuuri expected to wait, but Victor spoke quietly to the hostess, and they were promptly escorted to a booth. They sat down, and Victor ordered wine as soon as the waiter came within view. He was clearly used to places like this.

“Did you—make reservations?” Yuuri had almost asked if Victor had bribed the hostess, which he realized would have been awfully rude.

“They were kind to let me make reservations on such short notice,” Victor said.

“Oh, I’m—sorry about not messaging you sooner.”

“Did you go out today?” Victor asked. “I was trying to think of how your phone might’ve died without a way to charge it.”

Phichit had prepared Yuuri for this question. “Phichit took my charger this morning, so I—I couldn’t charge it until he came back.”

Victor gave him a look Yuuri couldn’t interpret, chin propped up on his palm. “Why are you lying to me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri stiffened. “Wh-what? What do you mean?”

“I’m not mad, I just want to know why you feel you have to. Did you do something you think I won’t like?”

“What—what makes you think I’m lying?”

Victor chuckled. “I’ve been lied to my entire life. I wouldn’t be where I am if I couldn’t figure out how to tell. But really—you’re a terrible liar. Clearly you don’t lie often. Which is an admirable trait to have, but begs the question—why are you lying now?”

Various defenses swirled in Yuuri’s head, but he dismissed them all when he saw the certainty in Victor’s eyes. He looked down at his untouched water glass, deeply ashamed. “When you asked me out, I forgot to respond. I was in a panic because I didn’t have anything to wear, and Phichit took me out shopping, which distracted me—then while I was worried about ruining everything, Phichit came up with the excuse about my phone dying. I didn’t want to lie, but I felt so awful about forgetting to respond, and…” He took a deep breath, trying to ease his racing heart. “I’m sorry.”

Cool fingertips brushed his cheek, startling Yuuri into looking up. “It’s alright,” Victor said in a low, soothing voice. “Like I said, I’m not mad. I’m sorry my offer of a date was causing so much distress. Did you not want to come?”

“I did!” Yuuri cried, his voice a little too loud. He cleared his throat. “I mean—I do. I’m glad I’m here, I just get so nervous about—about stuff like this. There’s a reason I never dated anyone before.”

Victor’s lips pressed into an interested smile. “Did you get asked out often?”

“Not—not often, exactly. Maybe a handful of times. But when it did happen, I always turned them down. Not because I didn’t like them—I never really knew if I liked them or not—but because it was easier. I would always play out the worst-case scenarios in my head until I scared myself from even trying.”

Victor’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Then—what made things different with me?”

“You—you had a few things going in your favor,” Yuuri said, then took a sip of water. He put the glass down feeling just a little calmer. “First thing is that—while I can’t exactly say I _know_ you, I at least know who you are. Having you not be completely unknown is a little easier on me. Second thing is that you’re the first person who’s asked me out since Phichit came into my life, and he would never let me live in peace if he knew I turned down a date from someone I was interested in. And the third thing is just that—I’m already interested in you.”

“And you don’t often take interest in people, I take it?”

“I don’t interact with many people,” Yuuri said. “Just clients, and they usually flock to Phichit like he’s a lantern. I haven’t let myself be interested in anyone.”

“Why not?” Victor asked. “Do you feel like a relationship isn’t something you need?”

Yuuri looked aside. “Until Phichit came into my life, I _did_ think I was better off on my own. I was never—I didn’t look to him for anything romantic, but just having him around, someone to talk to—”

“Someone to look after you,” Victor said, amused.

Yuuri nodded sheepishly. “I realized that, if it weren’t for him, I’d be utterly alone, and I don’t think I could live that way anymore. But in that same vein, he’s spoiled me. I didn’t feel like I needed to look for anyone else as long as he was around.”

Yuuri hadn’t noticed how much Victor was leaning forward until he straightened with a sigh. “Believe it or not, but I know exactly how that feels.”

“You do?”

Victor nodded gravely. “I have a close friend I’ve relied on for far too long. That’s not to say I haven’t _tried_ looking for suitable substitutes, but he’s exceedingly good at what he does, and no one else can compare.”

“Perhaps no one will,” Yuuri said. “I know no one will ever be the same as Phichit, and I don’t expect them to be. I also know that I can’t expect to have him forever, and I’ve been trying to prepare myself for that inevitability.”

“I suspect what you need from your friend isn’t exactly the same as what I need from mine.”

Yuuri wondered what Victor might be getting from his friend that he considered it a _need,_ but decided now wasn’t the time to pry. “It shouldn’t matter—if it’s something you’re going to lose, you have to learn to live without it. If Phichit left me, I’d have to force myself to be friendlier with clients, or make sure I eat regularly. And if I was unable to function on my own, I’d have to find someone else, or change something else.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Yuuri said. “It’s simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. If Phichit left me today I don’t know what I’d do. I’ve come to depend on him too much.”

The waiter came back with wine and rattled off the specials for that day, and while Yuuri hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu, he knew exactly what he wanted. “Steak and mushrooms, medium rare.”

“I’ll have the same,” Victor said, and the waiter left. “I’m sorry—I forgot to confirm whether or not you drink. I saw this wine when I checked their website, and it’s one of my favorites—”

“Like I said, I’ll drink almost anything,” Yuuri said, taking a sip of his wine to illustrate. “I can’t claim to know much about wine, but this isn’t bad.” He bit back the temptation to drink a little more generously to calm his nerves. Things were going well enough on their own; best not to risk it.

Victor looked visibly relieved. Why was he trying so hard to please Yuuri?

“So you like steak?”

“It’s the way they make their steak and mushrooms,” Yuuri explained. “But yes, I like steak. I didn’t get it back home, and while it’s a little more common here, I don’t get the good stuff very often. Special occasions.”

Victor smiled. “Is tonight a special occasion, then?”

“I—” Yuuri thought about lying again, but immediately thought better of it. “I wasn’t the one who chose to come here. You texted while I was in the shower, and Phichit answered for me.”

“But you said this was your favorite place.”

Yuuri nodded. “It is, which was why I didn’t think it’d be all that courteous to request it on the second date. It’s a little more expensive than I’m comfortable asking for, but Phichit didn’t really think about that. He just knows it’s my favorite. That said, I’m more than willing to pay for my portion. I don’t want to be rude.”

“When I said I’d buy you food in exchange for getting to know you, I knew it was a possibility you’d try to take advantage of me,” Victor said. “You wouldn’t be the first. I prepared many different ways to bow out of a situation like that. But if _this_ is your upper end of expensive, I have no problem sharing a meal here with you.”

“Maybe not upper end…” Yuuri rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve spent over a hundred dollars on myself at a sushi restaurant once. _That_ would be my upper end.”

“I once had a meal with one of my sponsors that cost the equivalent of four thousand dollars,” Victor deadpanned. “I don’t want to say that a hundred dollars in one night is _nothing,_ but I’ve been among those who throw money around like it’s toilet paper, so it doesn’t shock me. If you asked me for a hundred dollars each night to spend time with you, I would hesitate for a moment, but it wouldn’t turn me away completely.”

Yuuri blinked, heat billowing to his cheeks. “Wh—what? That’s insane.”

Victor gave him a gentle smile. “I think part of why I like you, though, is that you _don’t_ demand that sort of thing from me.”

“I could never…”

“I think if you still hated me, you might,” Victor said.

“I wouldn’t willingly spend time with you if I still hated you, no matter if you offered me all the food I could possibly want,” Yuuri said solemnly, eyes staring at the condensation on his water glass. “There was a time in my life that it was physically painful to even think about you. It was one of the worst feelings in the world to go from being filled with excitement and joy at hearing your name, to being able to feel nothing but pain, betrayal, and hatred. I lost people I considered friends, simply because I couldn’t exist in that world where people still loved you.”

Victor reached out, eyes sad. “Yuuri I’m so—”

Yuuri shook his head. “Don’t. I know. I’m not even sure why I’m talking about it so much. I guess so that you might know where I’m coming from, why I might be hesitant to trust… this.”

Victor touched Yuuri’s chin, demanding his attention. “Yuuri, if there’s one thing I want to do before I die, it’s to do whatever I can to make up for all that pain I caused you. Even if it’s small things like this.”

“It’s not that simple,” Yuuri said, a little annoyed. “And I don’t—if you’re just dating me to make things up to me—stringing me along to make me feel better—”

“Yuuri, that’s not—” Victor took a healthy gulp of his wine, exhaling long, and slow. “That’s not it. That’s not what I meant. I’m just trying to say that I _care_ about you. I care about the way you feel. I felt so awful about causing you so much pain. It shouldn’t have happened. If I could go back and redo everything I’d make sure it never happened, but I can’t, so going forward I want to do everything I can to make it up to you.”

“No,” Yuuri said.

“No?”

Yuuri took his own gulp of wine. “I don’t want you to _make things up to me._ If we’re going to do this, if you’re going to date me, it has to be without the pretense of trying to make up for the past. Otherwise I’m going to believe that you’re just doing it to make yourself feel better rather than for any actual romantic interest in me. You already apologized—you wrote that letter, you gave me a check, and now I’m making your costumes. On that front, we’re completely even. Everything else,” Yuuri gestured around to the restaurant, “is just me and you. If you’re just doing this because you feel like you owe me, this will be our last date.”

Yuuri cringed inwardly at his outburst, but he felt proud of himself at the same time. He knew Phichit would be proud of him, too, for standing up to someone as intimidating as Victor Nikiforov, especially since it was his own integrity on the line. He just couldn’t help but hope that Victor _wasn’t_ doing this out of pity or guilt, because—no matter how unlikely—he did want Victor to be genuinely interested in him.

Victor kept his head down for a moment, expression unreadable. Yuuri was convinced he was trying to find a graceful way to end the date.

But when Victor looked up again, his eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed, and his lips just slightly parted. He looked almost—aroused?

That couldn’t be right.

The look was gone in a moment, replaced by a gentle expression. “I realize how it might look, but trust me, Yuuri—I’m interested in you. If it were anyone else, I would’ve stopped with the letter and the check.”

Yuuri burned to ask why, why Victor could possibly be interested in him, but he became distracted by the delicious smell of steak, mushroom, and onions. He dove in probably more eagerly than was polite, but if Victor had been paying attention at all, he would know by now that Yuuri couldn’t resist when food was placed in front of him.

Yuuri was in heaven. He couldn’t claim to have had much steak in his life, but to his limited palate, the steak there was _perfect._ Tender and flavorful, complemented by the intensely savory mushrooms and onions cooked in wine. It was one of the few dishes Yuuri forced himself to slow down and savor, like when Phichit made a perfect khao soi. Despite his slow chewing, however, he spent little time without food in his mouth, making conversation difficult.

Victor didn’t seem all that interested in talking, though. When he wasn’t neatly cutting small bites from his steak, he was watching Yuuri with an almost intense fascination. It was a little unsettling, but Victor always smiled when Yuuri caught him looking, completely unashamed.

Yuuri finally took a break about halfway through, letting what he’d eaten settle before he went back for more. “I always forget how good it is until I have it again,” he said. “Though you’ve probably had way better steaks than this.”

“I don’t often eat steak,” Victor said. “What I _have_ had was probably at sponsor dinners, or other gatherings where I can’t really enjoy myself. This is good, though. I wish I could enjoy it as much as you seem to.”

Yuuri took it even slower when he started eating again, determined not to finish before Victor. “What sort of food is your favorite, then?”

Victor’s lips curled into a slight smile. “All the things I’m not supposed to eat while I’m training. Pasta, fresh-baked bread, pastries, cakes… My favorite food in the world is a medovik tort. Have you ever had one?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t know what that is.”

For just a brief second, Victor looked scandalized, then shook his head slowly, muttering something in Russian under his breath. “It’s a layered honey cake. My favorite bakery in St. Petersburg makes one with fifteen layers, and the texture is heavenly. It has just enough sweetness to not be overwhelming, and the filling is _perfect._ I only eat it about once or twice a year, but it’s amazing every time. I’ve even made it myself more than once, but it never turns out as good.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“You like sweets?”

“I like all sorts of food,” Yuuri said. “That means sweets, too. I don’t have them very often because Phichit isn’t a huge fan of anything that’s not coconut ice cream, and I haven’t really gone out of my way to get anything for just myself.”

“Perhaps I’ll remedy that, one of these days,” Victor said.

“I—I would say don’t bother going through the trouble, but I get the feeling you’ll do it anyway,” Yuuri said.

Victor laughed. “I see you’re getting to know me. Would you like to order dessert tonight, you think?”

Yuuri automatically shook his head. “I’ll be stuffed full by the time I finish this steak. It’s more than enough. But if you want to, go right ahead.”

“I think I’ll refrain this time,” Victor said. “In fact, I should probably stop here. Would you like to take home the leftovers?”

Victor had nearly half of his food left. “Are you sure? Does your hotel not have a microwave?”

“I’m staying in an apartment, and it does indeed have a microwave. But I have the feeling that you’ll appreciate this far more than I will. I’ll likely forget it exists and carelessly let it rot in the refrigerator.”

“Then, I’d be glad to take it,” Yuuri said. He scooped up the last bite of his own steak. “You should know you’re spoiling me.”

“I know,” Victor said, giving Yuuri a mischievous smile. “It’s fun. I don’t get to spoil people very often. You’re also easy to spoil.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but flush at that, full and content as he was. He still didn’t understand why, but he was at least starting to believe that Victor liked him. For some reason.

After Victor paid without so much as letting Yuuri glance at the check, they went back to his car, and Yuuri found himself wondering if the night would end soon.

He still wanted to kiss Victor. Maybe even do more than that, but he had no idea what was on the table. Mostly, though, he didn’t want his time with Victor to be over just yet. Like every time they’d been together, it felt like they were just scratching at each other’s surfaces, revealing only small, tantalizing morsels of the people they were underneath. Yuuri wanted to know more. As often as he’d seen Victor already, he knew their time together was limited.

Before Yuuri realized it, Victor had parked again. They were at the workshop. Yuuri got out of the car, afraid for a moment that Victor would stay in his car and say goodbye right then. But to Yuuri’s relief, Victor got out and walked him to the door.

“I enjoyed dinner,” Yuuri said. “Would you like to come up for some tea?”

Victor hesitated, clearly considering. “I’d love to, but I should get to bed early.”

Yuuri hadn't realized how much he’d hoped until the disappointment hit him. He tried his best to keep it from his face. “Alright.”

“Another time, I promise,” Victor said. He made as if to touch Yuuri’s face, but then settled his hand on Yuuri’s neck instead. “Maybe even tomorrow, if you’re open to seeing me again so soon.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. “Sure. Text me.”

It was hard to tell in the darkness, but Victor looked almost relieved. “I will. Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”

“I should be thanking you,” Yuuri said, holding up the take-out container.

“Believe me, the pleasure was mine,” Victor said. His fingers moved just slightly, sending shivers down Yuuri’s spine. He seemed to be hesitating on something, eyes unable to focus on any one thing for too long.

Yuuri might not have had much experience in this, but even he wouldn’t miss an opportunity so obvious. He stepped forward, raising on his toes just slightly, braced his free hand on Victor’s shoulder for support, tilted his head, and pressed his lips to Victor’s.

The man’s lips were already slightly parted, and Yuuri used that to his advantage, sliding his tongue in just a tiny, teasing amount. It was a little discouraging that Victor didn’t seem to relax into it, and Yuuri gave up after just a few seconds, wondering if his advances were unwelcome. He took a step back, searching Victor’s face.

His blue eyes were wide and shining in the light of the streetlamp overhead, a dusting of red across his cheeks. He seemed stunned more than repulsed, which did a little to ease the tension in Yuuri’s chest.

Faster than he could realize what was happening, Yuuri’s face was enveloped in Victor’s cool hands, and he was being pressed urgently against the door in a fiery kiss that put his first attempt to shame. Yuuri’s whole body awakened instantly, warmth pulsing through his limbs. As Victor’s tongue wormed hungrily into his mouth, Yuuri moved his free hand up from Victor’s back to his impossibly soft hair. Yuuri had always wondered if it felt as silky as it looked, and though he was distracted, in the back of his mind he filed away the fact that it very much was.

A small moan escaped Yuuri unbidden, and he wished it hadn’t, because Victor eased away just after. His hands remained on Yuuri’s face, however, and he kept his head close, his breath coming out in soft pants that fell warm against Yuuri’s skin.

“Sorry,” Victor said breathily.

“Don’t be,” Yuuri said. “Are you sure you don’t want to come upstairs?”

“I shouldn’t. Not tonight.” Victor visibly swallowed, and pulled away. “You should know you smell amazing, by the way. And just a little familiar. What is it?”

“E-eros,” Yuuri said. “It was—”

Victor laughed. “Of course. _Eros._ You absolute fanboy.” He said it with more affection than derision.

Yuuri laughed too, though his was laced with nerves. “I bought it not long after that ad campaign, though I didn’t think of it when I put it on tonight. I feel pretty stupid now.”

“Don’t,” Victor said reassuringly. “It suits you, better than it ever suited me. I’d rather associate it with you.”

Yuuri _really_ wished Victor would come upstairs, if only so he could continue to bathe himself in Victor’s presence. But when Victor stepped away completely, he knew the moment was lost.

“Tomorrow,” Victor promised. “Goodnight, Yuuri.”

“Goodnight, Victor.”

Yuuri went inside to stop himself from watching him drive away. His heart was still racing as he walked up the stairs, guided by the light they always kept on at night. Yuuri opened the door to the apartment.

“I’m sorry, I’ll just—” Phichit looked over from his desk. “Oh. Is it just you?”

“Just me,” Yuuri said, and went to put away his food in the fridge. “I thought you were going out with Leo tonight.”

Phichit just sighed, and turned back to his desk.

“What happened?” Yuuri asked, going to his friend.

“It’s nothing, just—” Phichit shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’d rather hear about your date,” Phichit said, turning around again and planting a smile on his face. “Your lips say it went well.”

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but only if you tell me what’s bothering you,” Yuuri said.

“Since when do you pay attention?” Phichit muttered, scribbling harsh lines into his sketch book. “Gah. Fine. Leo was with Guang-Hong tonight.”

“And? Why didn’t you join them?”

“They were on a _date,_ or something, I don’t know. They made it sound like I was definitely not invited.”

“And is this unusual for them?” Yuuri asked.

“I don’t know. Not really? Usually I try not to bother them if they’re already out together, but I really didn’t want to be in your way tonight. But the way they shut me out, you’d think I would’ve been _imposing_ on them or something. I just… I felt kind of worthless, you know?”

Yuuri touched Phichit’s shoulder. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“Maybe not, but it still sucks. Leo didn’t even want to listen to me—I couldn’t explain why I wanted to hang out with him. I got angry and hung up.” Phichit sighed heavily. “I’m probably overreacting, but it felt like the one time I really needed them they wouldn’t even hear me out. And then I started thinking that maybe things wouldn’t be so great if we tried to do something more serious, and…” He gestured to his sketchbook, which was a mess of vague shapes and harsh pencil scrubbing. “I didn’t know what to do. I was going to leave as soon as you came back, in case you and Victor needed the place to yourselves.”

“Even if Victor had come up, you shouldn’t force yourself to leave. I told you—this is your home.”

Phichit smiled up at him. “I was _not_ going to be the one who stood in the way of you getting laid by Victor Nikiforov. But enough of my problems—how did your date go?”

They moved over to the kitchen table, Phichit making some tea while Yuuri relayed just about every detail he could remember, at Phichit’s urging. When he got to the end, he felt that same rush of excitement as he relived that passionate kiss, and was embarrassed to find himself hard again. He decided he might have to take care of that before bed.

“Oh, he definitely wants to,” Phichit said.

“Are you sure? I mean—he really could have come up. He didn’t even offer any real excuses, just that he ‘shouldn’t.’ I don’t know what he could have meant.”

“Maybe he’s just not ready,” Phichit said. “Maybe he has some sort of special training regimen he doesn’t want to mess up. But you said he said ‘tomorrow’—does that mean he wants to do it tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. I took it to mean he’d see me again tomorrow, but do you think he meant more than that?”

“I couldn’t say without hearing the whole context,” Phichit said thoughtfully. “But in case he _did_ mean sex, I’ll be sure to be out of here tomorrow. Even if Leo and Guang-Hong are together again, I’ll figure out whose place they’re staying at and crash at the other one’s apartment.”

Yuuri drained his tea, feeling unusually warm. “I just still can’t believe he’s into me. I feel like I’m living in a dream I’m about to wake up from.”

Phichit reached across the table and pinched Yuuri’s cheek. “Believe me, it’s all real. And if I’m honest, I’m jealous as hell. Not only that you get to kiss-and-possibly-have-sex-with Victor Nikiforov, but that he gets _you_ all to himself. I didn’t think about it much until I was sitting here alone tonight, but I’ll miss it. With you.”

Phichit didn’t often look shy or sad, but seeing him both broke Yuuri’s heart a little. “I’ll miss it, too. But hey, you’ll work things out with Leo and Guang-Hong. I’m sure of it.”

“I wish I could be as sure,” Phichit said. He looked so uncharacteristically down that Yuuri couldn’t help but feel he had to do something. He stood, and tugged Phichit up with him.

“Yuuri, what—”

“Come here,” Yuuri said, and folded Phichit into his arms. He always did love the way his friend seemed to fit comfortably against him. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m alright; I don’t need your comfort,” Phichit said stubbornly, just before pressing his face against Yuuri’s chest and releasing a shuddering breath.

It was a long time before Phichit pulled away, but as he did, he gave Yuuri a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t get you sometimes. You’re so self-absorbed and oblivious one minute, and the next you’re Mr. Comfort. You’re giving me such a complex.”

“I just don’t like it when my partner is sad,” Yuuri said, unable to keep the smile from his face. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the most consistent friend.”

Phichit snorted. “If you had been, Victor Nikiforov would have to pry you from my cold, dead hands.” His eyes lowered towards the floor. “I’m sorry for ruining your evening with my bullshit. You should be happily reliving your date right now, not worrying about me.”

“You deserve to be worried about,” Yuuri said. “And it’s not bullshit if you’re feeling down. I still think you should probably talk to them, maybe in a situation where you’re not working, partying, or about to have sex.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” Phichit said, hugging himself. “With them I feel like there’s never a good time to be serious. It ruins the vibe.”

“Maybe you should bring them here sometime,” Yuuri suggested. “Unlike Leo’s apartment, this place hasn’t been used for parties every other weekend. And unlike Guang-Hong’s place, you can fit more than two people in it comfortably. The different context might help them pay attention to the fact that you’re serious about this.”

“Are you alright with that?” Phichit asked. “I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“I told you—this place is as much yours as mine,” Yuuri said. “And before you remind me, yes, I know you don’t pay rent. That doesn’t change things. I’m starting to realize you might’ve thought you _couldn’t_ bring your friends over, because you saw it as my place and not yours.”

“I didn’t—it wasn’t exactly like that,” Phichit said. “Maybe a little at first, but after a while I kind of liked that this was a designated ‘quiet place’. It was relaxing to come home to, and I never wanted to do anything to mess that up. Plus I—I liked coming home to just you. Guang-Hong and Leo are fun, but they’re pure chaos. You were always stable. Working odd hours, needing to be fed on occasion—simple.”

Yuuri wasn’t sure how much he liked being called “simple,” but he knew it wasn’t worth commenting on. It wasn’t about him, right now.

“Maybe I will invite them over to dinner,” Phichit said. “I don’t know how they’ll react, but at least I’ll learn where they stand on the whole idea.”

“Should I clear out for a night?” Yuuri asked.

Phichit shook his head. “No. I mean—you can do what you want, but I’d prefer it if I knew you were downstairs working. In case they turn into jerks and I have to kick them out and cry for a while.”

Yuuri nodded. “And—don’t get mad at me for saying this, I _know_ you—what if it takes a different turn?”

“Then we shove off to Leo’s place and finish our night there,” Phichit said simply. “I’m not going to have sex in your bed. And it is _your_ bed, no matter what you say. I just share it with you sometimes, same way I share with Leo and Guang-Hong.”

“Well, not _exactly_ the same way,” Yuuri said.

“Pretty close,” Phichit said. “Just more sleeping and less sex. About the same amount of cuddling. Speaking of cuddling… is that still allowed?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said. “But until we figure that out, I say it’s allowed. _Especially_ if it’s to comfort my friend.”

Phichit smiled in a decidedly grateful way, which told Yuuri he’d made the right choice. It didn’t matter that they’d had sex before—Yuuri knew their cuddling was always platonic, always for mutual comfort. If Victor asked him to stop, he likely would, but there was no sense in giving it up before he had to.

He always slept better with Phichit beside him, anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

“ _Well, at least you chose a more reasonable time to call me, this time.”_ Chris’s voice was always so low and naturally seductive, his French gliding over Victor like silk. After hearing nothing but English all day, it was distinctly therapeutic.

“After all these years, I might have memorized your training schedule,” Victor said. “How are you?”

“ _Hating myself for doing this again, as I always do at this point in the year. So, how’s it going with the new boy toy? Did you ask him out?”_

“I did, and we went out yesterday. Things were going really well, but I…”

_“Did you have sex?”_

“Not yet. The opportunity was there, but…”

“ _Did he get cold feet?”_

“No. I did.”

“…”

“You don’t believe me,” Victor said dryly.

“ _Of course I don’t. You were crazy about this guy, and you’re always talking about how sex feeds your soul in a way nothing else does. He must’ve given off some vibe that told you to back off.”_

“He invited me up, Chris. Twice. Initiated the first kiss and everything. Eyes practically begging me. But I… couldn’t do it. I was afraid.”

“ _Afraid of disappointment?”_

“Afraid of disappointing _him._ I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, and I didn’t want to go in unprepared. It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone new.”

“ _…You’re afraid he’s a bottom.”_

“I’m not. That doesn’t matter to me.”

“ _It does. Maybe you’re telling yourself it doesn’t because you really like this guy—which, congrats to you if that’s true—but you know it does, Victor. We’ve been through this song and dance before. You can’t make it last with someone who doesn’t want to fuck you.”_

“I would make it work for Yuuri,” Victor said with conviction.

“ _I don’t think you should try. I think you should tell him up front what you like, and let him decide if he can handle that or not. Best case, he’s into the idea, worst case, you save some time trying to make something happen that won’t.”_

“I don’t _need_ it, Chris—”

“ _Yes, you do. You’ve tried time and again to deny yourself, and every time you end up calling me. You’re not an addict—you_ can _live without it—but you you’re unsettled without your fix. You need someone to strip down your ego every so often. There’s nothing wrong with it, but you need to find someone who’s willing to do it if you’re going to make a relationship last.”_

Victor wanted to keep arguing, wanted to say that Yuuri was different, Yuuri was worth changing for, but he couldn’t. He was too tired of this conversation, tired of his excuses and rationalizations ringing hollower and hollower every time. At the end of everything, Chris was right.

“ _Does he read like a bottom, at least?”_

“Chris…”

“ _Hear me out. I know it’s not an exact science, but sometimes there are tells. Start with the partner. You think they had sex before?”_

“I know they did. Yuuri told me.”

“ _How does he read?”_

Victor sighed, a little annoyed at this line of questioning. “I don’t know. He’s… cute. Likes to please people, put them at ease. Charming.”

_“And how does he interact with Yuuri?”_

“He’s like a caretaker, sometimes. Looks after Yuuri, makes sure he’s eating and not running himself ragged. Other times he’s like a student. He listens to Yuuri, bowing to his experience when he speaks.”

“ _Sounds like a bottom to me.”_

Victor sighed. “Chris, you know that doesn’t mean anything.”

_“Still, my instincts say enthusiastic bottom. Which would make your Yuuri an energetic top, if he was at all compatible with his partner.”_

Victor really didn’t want to hope, because he knew in his heart that Chris could very easily be wrong. “I just—I don’t want to scare him off by talking about this so early. Maybe we could build up to it.”

_“Don’t. If he can’t handle it at this point, it will only make it worse if he decides he can’t handle it after you’ve gotten closer. Tell. Him. The. Truth.”_

Victor cringed, afraid he might just give in to Chris’s advice. “How the hell do I even begin a conversation like that?”

“ _Same way you do everything else. Trust me, sweetheart, if he’s worth anything, he’ll hear you out. You said he used to hate you, right?”_

“Yeah. For a good reason.”

_“Remind him of that if he thinks he can’t do it. He must have a spine in him, otherwise he wouldn’t have drawn your attention so much.”_

“He does,” Victor said wistfully. “He—well, he comes across as kind of shy, but when he gets worked up about something, he doesn’t hold back. It’s really sexy, actually.”

_“Mm, sounds like a good top to me.”_

“Cut it out, already. I don’t know if he’s a top or not, and I’m not going to let you convince me otherwise.”

_“Then, how do you expect to find out?”_

“I guess I’ll…” Victor had considered just diving in and hoping for the best, but it was that same thought that made his blood go cold with fear after their date. He knew if presented with the same opportunity again, he’d feel the same, and Yuuri might start to wonder why he was rejected twice without explanation. He sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to him.”

“ _Good boy,”_ Chris purred. “ _You’ll be fucking again in no time. And, if not—I’ll give you a freebie the next time you’re in the neighborhood.”_

As good as that sounded, Victor knew he shouldn’t ask that of Chris anymore. Still, he smiled. “Good to know you’re willing to look after me.”

“ _Always and forever, dear friend. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to start practice. I’m expecting you to send me photos of you with this Yuuri next time you meet. I’m curious as to what he looks like when he’s not dangling a cherry over his mouth.”_

“He’s sexy, Chris—you’ll like him. Good luck with practice, and thanks for listening to me bitch.”

“ _You know I can’t deny you. Goodnight, Victor.”_

Victor hung up, wishing he felt better about the whole situation. Chris usually pushed him to do the right thing, but it wasn’t uncommon for Victor to find that contrary to what he actually wanted to do.

He just wished there were some easier way to go about it. He didn’t believe in Chris’s “tells”. Men were people and people could always surprise you, and he hated Chris’s approach to the world that put everyone in neat boxes. Even if there happened to be truth in his observations, Victor didn’t like relying on them, _especially_ when so much hinged on the outcome.

Victor didn’t want to base his hope entirely on Chris’s thoughts. He needed something, _anything_ to tell him he stood a chance without scaring Yuuri off, and then he’d figure out the rest. If only there were some way to find a hint, someone to answer a really simple question…

The idea hit Victor suddenly, filling him with sudden hope until he mentally took a step back from it and thought about it rationally. He _could_ ask Phichit about Yuuri’s preferences, maybe frame it in a way that made it look like he was only looking out for Yuuri’s well-being. There was a distinct possibility the man wouldn’t answer anything, turn around and immediately tell Yuuri what he’d asked, but that scenario seemed unlikely, and still preferable to scaring Yuuri by asking too suddenly.

If it didn’t work, Victor decided, he’d ask Yuuri himself. But he had to take a chance on Phichit first.

* * *

 

“Hey. You wanted to talk to me?”

Phichit wasn’t as cheerful as Victor had come to expect. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, and was hugging his arms close to his body like he didn’t want to be there. “Are you alright?” Victor couldn’t help but ask. He needed to know if _he_ was the one making Phichit so reserved, because his question might not be so well-received if Phichit was upset or nervous because of him.

Phichit smiled weakly. “Yeah. I just—wasn’t expecting to come to the rink today. Not that it’s an inconvenience or anything, it’s just personal stuff. Did you need to ask something about Yuuri?”

Victor was a little relieved to find that it wasn’t him who caused Phichit to look like this, but the lack of his usual cheeriness was concerning. “I just had a question, but if you’d rather not answer, I’ll understand. I just—just wanted to ask you for a hint.”

Phichit’s eyes suddenly showed more interest. “What sort of hint?”

Victor looked around, making sure the alcove they’d chosen was still empty. “About—about his um…”

Phichit leaned forward, a smile growing on his face.

It only made Victor more nervous. “I need to ask about his preferences. What he likes in—in the bedroom. You’re the only one I could think to ask without going straight to him, which I’ll do if you’d rather not answer me. But I didn’t want to scare him off by pelting him with questions so quickly.”

“Is this why you turned him down last night?” Phichit asked bluntly. “He was confused by that.”

“He told you?”

Phichit folded his arms, perhaps slightly offended. “Well, yeah. I’m probably the only close friend Yuuri has left, and everybody with even an ounce of anxiety needs someone to talk to. For the record, though, he wasn’t upset. Just confused.”

“I see.” Victor wasn’t exactly surprised that Yuuri had talked to him, but the fact that they shared so much made him a little more careful with his phrasing. “Are you comfortable answering the question?”

Phichit seemed to consider. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but since you seem to be looking out for Yuuri, I’ll do my best. The thing is—I can’t speak to his personal preferences.”

“But I thought you’d…”

Phichit waved a dismissive hand. “He’s accommodating. He listened to what I wanted and gave it to me. We didn’t really have the sort of relationship where we explored much. I could say there might be _hints_ of specific things that Yuuri might want, but I don’t want to say them and be completely off, because I really don’t know.”

“But he seemed to enjoy what you did together, at least?” Victor asked.

“Yes.” Phichit fingered the edge of his sleeve. “He’s not bad at sex, despite his demeanor and relative inexperience, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not exactly,” Victor felt the need to clarify. “Inexperience doesn’t bother me. It’s more… what he’s willing to try.”

Phichit was watching him closely—so closely that Victor found himself looking aside nervously. Realization dawned on Phichit’s face. “Oh. _Oh._ I get what you’re asking.” He grinned. “I see that same fear I had when I was first getting to know Yuuri sexually.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “What fear?”

Phichit leaned against the wall of the hallway. “Now, I don’t make it a habit to share my sexual preferences with just anyone. I assume this will stay between us, yes?”

“I’d prefer nothing but privacy on both ends, if at all possible.” Victor lowered his voice just to be sure, though no one was around.

Phichit nodded. “Not to give you my life story or anything, but when I got to college, I tried just about everything when it came to sex. I thought I was a switch, because I always had _fun,_ but until I had my first longer-term partner, I didn’t realize how badly I understood myself. I’m a bottom to the core, and once I accepted that part of myself, I couldn’t go back to switching. So when I started sleeping with Yuuri and began thinking about sex with him, I was afraid he wouldn’t like it that way, because it’s really hard to tell what he likes.”

Victor swallowed, hanging on Phichit’s every word. “So you’re saying he’s…?”

“Like I said, he’s accommodating,” Phichit said with an amused smile. “I won’t ask you more specific questions, but I think I get enough of the picture just from the way you’re asking. He’ll fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’ll probably _really_ enjoy it, too.”

Victor felt his knees weaken with relief. “Oh, thank god.”

Phichit laughed. “You poor soul. I bet you’ve been disappointed before.”

Victor nodded solemnly. “Every time.”

“ _Every_ time? That’s horrible.”

“Well, I mean—there haven’t been too many,” Victor said. “Usually I make sure I really like the person before I find out. I’ve felt awful about it every time.”

“I’m sorry,” Phichit said, voice practically dripping with empathy. “I know I got lucky with my partners. If I struck out too many times I’d probably start to believe something was wrong with me.”

“There’s no danger of that,” Victor said. “I’m grateful for the concern, but I’ve had a friend take care of me for the better part of a decade. But I’m losing him, soon, and it’s made me somewhat… desperate. Keep in mind I _really_ like Yuuri, and I would try to make something work regardless of his preferences, but I just…”

Phichit stifled another laugh. “No, I understand. If Yuuri couldn’t fuck you at all, that would complicate things, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, though…” Did Victor dare hint about his more harrowing secret? “It’s not the whole of what I need. But I should probably keep that between Yuuri and myself.”

Phichit nodded, understanding. “Alright. I’ll say this, though—with him, talking is always better. If you jump in headfirst, he might get nervous and shut down if things get too far into uncharted territory. But he’s good at listening. Not so great at expressing what _he_ wants, but he’ll listen to what you want and do what he can. I’m pretty confident about that.”

Victor reached forward and took Phichit’s hand, clasping it firmly between his own. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

A dusting of red appeared on Phichit’s cheeks. “It’s no trouble at all. I love Yuuri, and I want to see him happy more than anything. You’re the first person who’s ever really broken through to him, so I’m rooting for things to work out between you two.”

“Thank you,” Victor said again, and released him. “I can’t recall a time I’ve ever liked an ex so much.”

“Hey, I’m not an ex!” Phichit cried, affronted. “I’m his friend, his creative partner, and his roommate. None of that’s changed.”

“You’re right—I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant.”

Phichit turned, giving Victor a sidelong glance. “And just because I’m helping you doesn’t mean I’ll stand in your corner if you hurt Yuuri.”

“No, I—I completely understand,” Victor said, trying to appease him. “I’m sorry for calling you an ex. I guess I just don’t know an easier term for a person who was once sexually involved with the person I’m interested in.”

“Just call me Phichit,” he said, his smile warm. “Now if you excuse me, I need to get out of here before I’m caught by people I don’t want to talk to right now. Enjoy your date with Yuuri tonight. I really hope it goes well.”

“I—thank you.”

Phichit disappeared down the hallway while Victor pulled out his phone. He hadn’t texted Yuuri yet, too nervous about talking with Phichit to come up with a plan. He thought for a moment about what would be best to say.

Victor: _Would it be alright if I chose the meal tonight?_

Victor was back on the ice before he felt the buzz in his pocket, and he immediately ceased his movements to read it.

Yuuri: _Of course. I’ll eat anything. Are we going out again, or staying in?  
_ Victor: _Staying in. I need to talk to you about something. And I’d still like to watch you work._

It was another few minutes before Yuuri responded again.

Yuuri: _I’m almost finished with the sewing of your King. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a fitting today._

At first the thought disappointed him, as he recalled the dozens of tedious and boring costume fittings he’d endured during his career. But then he remembered that this would be Yuuri at the helm—Yuuri touching him, Yuuri looking at him, Yuuri’s hands tugging at the fabric. Yuuri watching him undress. Yuuri teasing him about the size of his shoulders when they would inevitably have to be let out a little.

Somehow, it seemed a little thrilling.

By the time Victor drove over to the workshop, he was decidedly nervous, but not as much as he would have been had he not talked to Phichit beforehand. His heart pounded loudly as he pressed the buzzer. It was maybe ten seconds before Yuuri opened the door, a beautiful smile on his face—a far cry from the nervous greetings he’d gotten just days ago. “Good timing—I only just finished.”

Yuuri didn’t even glance at the bag of takeout in Victor’s hand as he gestured forward and went to the dressform that almost glowed in the sunlight from the high windows.

“Obviously it’s not _finished_ finished,” Yuuri said. “But it’s at the point where I need to make sure it fits before I go forward. We can do it now, or after we’ve eaten—whichever you like.”

Victor put his bag down on a table and approached the costume with reverence. The light made the snowy fabric almost dance, giving a delicate contrast to the clean lines of the jacket. The fabric for the pants wasn’t the same, but complementary, taking nothing away from the magnificence of the jacket. A sash had been draped across the front, already sparkling with a few silvery stones, and Victor couldn’t help sliding his finger across them.

“This was to test, to give you a preview of what the stones look like against the fabric,” Yuuri said. “I can still change the color if you want something bolder, but personally I like the subtlety of it.”

Victor shook his head, feeling almost speechless. “No. I like them.” He continued admiring the costume for a few moments, letting it sink in that _this was his._ It was _made for him._ He was going to wear it front of hundreds of thousands of people, and it was designed and constructed entirely by Yuuri.

“Would you… like to try it on?” Yuuri asked, clearly full of nervous excitement.

 _Yes. Absolutely. I’ve never wanted anything more._ Victor only nodded and began to unbutton his shirt.

“A-ah, we have a dressing area, if you’d prefer,” Yuuri said, pointing to a corner where a screen blocked off a segment of wall.

Victor set his chin, planted his eyes on Yuuri, and continued to remove his shirt. He needed to see Yuuri’s reaction, needed to know what the man thought of him.

Yuuri visibly swallowed, but didn’t look away, not until Victor unfastened his slacks and slid them off.

“I—I forgot to ask if you’d brought a dancer belt,” Yuuri said hastily. “We have a few spare ones here. It’s not absolutely necessary at this stage, but in case you wanted to feel what it might be like at a competition…”

Victor cleared his throat to get Yuuri’s attention again, and tugged down the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing the dancer belt underneath. “When you said fitting, I supposed it might be best if I kept mine on.”

Yuuri was beet red, and had trouble looking directly at Victor for more than a second, but he _did_ look, and Victor could tell the man liked what he saw.

Yuuri removed the shimmering white pants from the dress form, and handed them to Victor, who carefully put them on. They settled on his hips and fastened around his waist comfortably, the fabric stretching just a little over his backside, the way he liked. Not tight like Chris’s costumes, but just enough to show he had something worth showing off. He wondered if Yuuri had done it intentionally.

“How do they feel? Do they breathe okay? Give you enough movement? Are they warm enough?”

Victor moved around experimentally, doing a pirouette and a couple of small leaps. “They’re beautiful. Clearly made with dancing in mind.”

“I’d hoped that fabric would be the right choice,” Yuuri said, relieved. “I knew you’d used it before in some of your older costumes, but I wasn’t completely sure if it was one you liked, or just one your costume-maker preferred. But the real thing I’m worried about…” Yuuri unfastened the jacket and slid it off the dressform. “I made it so that you didn’t need anything underneath it, but I’d understand if you were more comfortable wearing something tighter.”

“Let’s try it without, for now,” Victor said. He was no stranger to unusual costumes.

Yuuri guided the fabric along Victor’s arms, and settled it on his shoulders before turning around and fastening the front panel with hidden metal hooks, finishing it off with the button.

“How does it feel?” Yuuri asked.

“Cold,” Victor said with a shiver. “But in a good way. It’s soft, and not nearly as heavy as it looks.” He moved his arms experimentally, bracing himself for the inevitable pop of a seam that said the shoulders were too tight.

But no matter how crazily he moved his arms, nothing popped. The fabric didn’t even pull. When he lifted his arms straight above his head, the bottom seam of the jacket barely moved, keeping him covered.

“What is this, magic?” he whispered.

Yuuri laughed. “Not magic, no. You have a little extra curve here,” he said, sliding a finger between Victor’s shoulder blades. “It’s unusual, and I imagine a lot of tailors don’t notice it right away, but… I noticed.” He blushed deeply. “I also gave you plenty of room in the underarms, so it won’t rise and fall with your movements. It was a bit tricky getting it to look formal and regal with the extra fabric, but I think I managed alright.”

Victor couldn’t stop moving around to test it. It felt like a dream, like the jacket was floating on his skin rather than constricting it. He’d never had a costume that seemed so perfect, _especially_ not on a first wearing.

“Would you like to stand in front of the mirror while I check the seams?” Yuuri asked, almost shyly.

Victor complied, still utterly speechless at the way the costume felt. He wanted to wear it on the ice _right now,_ wanted to skate his entire short program, ignoring the fact that it was still rough and incomplete. He wanted to take it home to St. Petersburg and show Yakov, listen to him grumble but eventually approve. He wanted to gush about it to Chris, to Mila, to Yuri, to all of their rinkmates.

And he wanted to thank Yuuri a million times over. But he couldn’t speak.

Yuuri hummed contentedly as he ran his fingers along every seam, tugging fabric here and there, raising Victor’s arms without saying a word. Victor only just barely remembered to look at himself in the mirror, and felt goosebumps rise on the back of his neck at the image. Yuuri at the feet of the White King, looking after the wardrobe. It was an image straight out of a fairytale, one that intrigued Victor but didn’t seem quite right. Victor would rather be at _Yuuri’s_ feet, thanking him for the hard work.

He thought about what he’d come here to do, and some of the happiness seeped out of him.

How could he possibly ask anything of Yuuri, now that he’d been given such a wonderful gift?

“Well, I don’t want to sound too optimistic or proud, but I think there’s not much to be done as far as alterations,” Yuuri declared. “Unless you feel something unusual.”

Victor shook his head. “It fits like…” Like a god made it for him. “It’s perfect, Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiled, cheeks flushed with pleasure. “I’m glad. Let me help you get it off, and we can eat.”

Victor’s breath trembled as Yuuri unfastened the jacket, then carefully slid it off Victor’s shoulders. Once it was safely placed on the dressform, Yuuri returned, giving Victor an expectant look.

“I figured you could handle the pants yourse—”

Victor cut off his words with a sudden kiss, acting on the intense impulse jolting through his body. His appreciation for Yuuri needed a release so terribly he could hardly think of anything else. Yuuri relaxed in his grip, opening up and leaning into Victor like they’d done this a hundred times before. Why was it so easy?

Victor gently pushed away, his mind finally catching up to his body. “Thank you. I couldn’t think of a better way to say it.”

Yuuri looked up at him with misty eyes. “The pleasure was mine, Victor. I’ve wanted to do this since I was young.”

“What, make my costumes, or kiss me?” Victor knew what he meant, but couldn’t help but tease when Yuuri was so cute.

Yuuri looked aside. “Both.” He turned back to Victor with a small, almost sly smile on his lips.

God, Victor wanted him so badly he was afraid to take his pants off, afraid that even with the dancer belt he’d be given away in an instant. He decided to turn around and let the moment pass rather than say or do something he might regret.

Yuuri accepted the pants and hung them up, and while Victor put his clothes back on, Yuuri went over to the table where Victor had left the bag. “So, what did you bring me today?”

“Something not nearly good enough to show my appreciation for you,” Victor said, zipping up his pants. “Though I’m not entirely sure a food of that magnitude exists. It’s chicken shawarma. There’s a place near where I’m staying that always smells amazing when I walk past it to my car.” Victor didn’t give his real reason for ordering it—that it was a relatively safe food that wouldn’t upset his stomach, in case things got physical.

Yuuri smiled. He was doing that a lot this evening. “It does smell good. Let’s take it upstairs.”

Victor was getting used to sitting at the table and watching Yuuri make tea. So used to it that he noticed Yuuri using a different jar this time. “Did we run out of the other tea?”

“Phichit told me to stop using it every time you came over,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “I was indulging a little too much, I suppose, because I knew you liked it too. This is blueberry and black tea, but if you don’t want it, we have sparkling water.”

Victor opted to try the new tea, and once it was brewing Yuuri settled at the table, looking ravenous. He opened his box and only took a few bites, however, before he started talking.

“You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Oh.” Victor hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but he’d been thoroughly distracted, and was surprised that Yuuri had remembered. “Yes. I—don’t really know how to begin.”

“It’s okay to just jump in,” Yuuri said. “Phichit does it to me all the time. Is there something on your mind?”

“You… invited me up last night.”

Yuuri nodded.

“And I turned you down. I wanted to explain why.”

“I mean, you don’t owe me an explanation,” Yuuri said, looking down at his food. “If you weren’t ready, you weren’t ready. I wasn’t going to hold it against you.”

“Well, I wasn’t ready for a very specific reason, and I’d like to tell you why that is, if you’ll let me.”

Yuuri poured tea for them both, a curious frown on his face. “I’m listening.”

“When I—” He stopped, choking on his words. “How do I even say it?” God, why was it always so difficult?

Warm fingertips brushed Victor’s hand, the gentle touch focusing him. “Hey, it’s alright. Say it, or don’t. I’m not going anywhere either way.”

“It’s hard to say because I don’t want to scare you,” Victor said. “I don’t want things to end because of this, and I’m very afraid that they might, because it’s happened before. No matter how many reassurances I receive that I’m not bad, or even that unusual for what I want, it still never seems to work out.”

“You’ve lost me, Victor,” Yuuri said, eyes concerned. “What are you afraid to say? Why do you think it would scare me off?”

Victor reached forward and grasped both of Yuuri’s hands. “I like you. I like you so much that it’s frightening. Every time I see you again I find myself falling farther and farther for you, and I want to believe with my whole self that we have something special, that it will work out between us. But I’ve been in similar situations before where my partner couldn’t give me what I needed, and I was forced to end it for those selfish needs. I want to believe that you can give me what I need, but I’m terrified to say it because it might put you off.”

If Yuuri wasn’t scared before, he definitely seemed to be now, the way his breath trembled. But he didn’t pull away from Victor’s hands. “Tell me, Victor.”

“I—” He reclaimed his hands, unable to look at Yuuri directly. “I need a partner who can fuck me.”

“I can do that,” Yuuri said.

“I also need one who can insult me, degrade me, strip me down and lay me bare. Someone who can take me off my pedestal and kick me to the ground where I belong.”

“I—think I could do that, too,” Yuuri said.

Victor felt hope blossoming in his chest, but he was still afraid. “And, when it’s all over, I need to be taken care of. I need a partner with a switch that can be turned on and off, because I thrive on affection as much as degradation.” That last request was the missing piece, the one thing that not even Chris had given him. He wanted to be cuddled, to be crooned to, to be reassured that he was loved after he was torn down.

“Well I—I don’t have the best track record with being affectionate after sex, but I can make an effort,” Yuuri said. “Is that all? I was bracing myself for something more—extreme.”

“Do you really think you could do it, though?” Victor asked. “The insulting is what my partners always had trouble with. They could never make it sound convincing, or enjoy themselves while they did it.”

“Oh, I think I could,” Yuuri said, his voice low. “I think I could enjoy it very much.”

Victor whimpered. It wasn’t on purpose. Yuuri’s tone pulled it out of him, as if his words had just reached inside him and made him produce that sound.

This was going too well.

“Are you sure?” Victor asked weakly.

“If that’s really what you want,” Yuuri said. “I’m not sure I understand _why_ you want it, but I know there’s not always a real reason behind what we want sexually.”

“I need someone to deflate my ego,” Victor said. “I need them to keep me humble, or I can’t work well.”

“Is this what your friend did for you?” Yuuri asked. “The one you’re losing?”

Victor leaned back and gave a half-smile. “Yes. Christophe. He’s been scratching my very real itch for the better part of ten years, but he’s getting pretty serious with his choreographer. He claims I can still request his services, but I’d rather not get involved with something like that.”

“I always did wonder what sort of relationship you had with Giacometti,” Yuuri said, smiling. “My guesses were kind of right.”

“What guesses did you make?” Victor asked, curious.

Yuuri was in the middle of a bite, and Victor waited patiently for him to swallow. “I thought you two were fucking, but thought it might be the other way around. I also never got the impression you were more than friends—you two just oozed sexual tension when you were around each other.”

Victor couldn’t help but laugh. “Well—you’re not wrong. I even fucked Chris more than once, early on. That was before we figured things out.”

“How did you?” Yuuri asked.

“How did we what?”

“Figure things out.”

Victor bit his lip. He hadn’t shared this story with anyone else, not even a past lover. But he’d already been cracked open, and he was thriving on sharing himself with Yuuri. Chris wouldn’t mind him telling this story—at least not much. “We were fighting. We were in my hotel room after a competition, and Chris was mad at me for winning gold over him. He was desperate, he’d tried so hard to win, and he just kept hurling insults at me. Eventually I stopped arguing back, and just listened to what he was saying. I was a fake. I didn’t deserve to win. I only won because of my sponsors. The judges were paid off. My routine was uninspired. My costume was cheap. I was ugly. My hair was tangled. I was awful in bed. I didn’t know how to be a friend. I was selfish. I deserved to be lonely. On and on and on it went, and I just—listened. At one point I became so overwhelmed that I thought I might cry, but when I sorted through what I was feeling, I was surprised to find out that I was actually aroused. I fell into this strange state, and when Chris finally came down from his anger, he apologized. I said if he wanted to make it up to me, he would fuck me, and—it was probably the best feeling in the world. Up to that point, I’d never felt anything like it. I was nothing, and I was free.”

Yuuri chewed slowly, letting a quiet moment pass while the story hung in the air between them. “Does the nature of the insults matter?” he asked. “Does it have to be related to your skating?”

“No. All that seems to matter is that I’m convinced they’re real. Usually it helps if there’s a hint of truth in it, even if it’s exaggerated.”

Yuuri went quietly thoughtful again, and Victor chewed mechanically through a bite of his shawarma, not really tasting it. It had gone cold.

“Do you have any other preferences besides insults?” Yuuri asked. His cheeks were flushed, but he spoke steadily. “Like a position, or the way you’re handled, or anything?”

“I’m pretty pliant when I’ve been properly…prepared,” Victor said delicately. “I guess that’s where _your_ preferences come in, if you have any.”

“There are a few things I might like, but I get the feeling that sex with you will be unlike anything I’ve ever done before. Actually, I _know_ it will be, simply on the fact that it’s you.” Yuuri looked down at his food. “I’m not all that hungry, anymore.”

“Sorry—did I ruin your appetite?”

Yuuri gave him a heated look that left nothing ambiguous. “No. Just changed it.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I can do this,” Yuuri whispered to himself.

He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, face still dripping with the water he’d splashed on it. They’d put away their food and Yuuri had excused himself, needing a moment to collect his thoughts.

It was like a dream. He had to make sure it _wasn’t_ a dream.

It was as though Victor had looked into the deep, shadowy corners of Yuuri’s mind, when he was at his lowest, darkest points, and pulled out the sadistic fantasies he’d cultivated with his pain. Fantasies of Yuuri finally telling Victor what he’d truly thought of him. Fantasies of having the great Victor Nikiforov at his feet, begging him for anything and everything. Fantasies that went farther, in ways Yuuri was going to disregard this first time.

He didn’t want to _hurt_ Victor—at least, not anymore—but a part of Yuuri still found satisfaction in those fantasies, the mere thought of having the living legend beneath him enough to make his blood hum.

“I can do this,” Yuuri whispered again, more confidently.

It was a role he’d wanted to play for a long time—a role that he knew Phichit would never go for. A role where he could unleash the side of himself he normally kept hidden—that secret little part of him that wanted to take pleasure in being cruel.

It was still surreal to think the oft-abused subject of his fantasies was here, and wanted him. Wanted Yuuri not just to fuck him, but to put on that mantle of cruelty, to insult him and degrade him and remind him that he wasn’t any better than anyone else. Had he known about Yuuri’s fantasies? There was no way. He’d been so scared to express those desires to Yuuri.

Yuuri didn’t believe in fate, or soulmates, or anything like that. But just for a moment in that bathroom, he considered the possibility that they might’ve been meant to be together.

He took two deep, centering breaths, and left the bathroom, leaving his glasses on the sink.

Victor had remained at the kitchen table, finishing his tea, but he stood when Yuuri emerged from the bathroom. So tall, so naturally regal, lit by just the orange glow from the sunset streaming through the window.

The highest towers were always the most fun to knock down.

Victor was still skeptical about his abilities, Yuuri knew. Which was fine—he had no precedent for believing that Yuuri was capable of convincingly insulting the man who was once his idol. Even now Yuuri’s inner fanboy protested, reminding Yuuri of all the ways this could go very wrong. Yuuri shut him up by going up to Victor and pulling the man down into an intense, punishing kiss.

Victor yielded to him almost immediately, his arms resting on Yuuri’s shoulders for support. Yuuri could almost feel the weight of his yearning, his desire, in the way that he leaned.

 _Poor Victor Nikiforov,_ Yuuri thought as his tongue wormed its way between Victor’s lips. _You really need someone to take care of you._

Yuuri dug his fingers into Victor’s side with an almost punishing grip. Victor pulled away and gasped.

_Let it be me. I’ll give you exactly what you want._

Yuuri practically dragged Victor to the bed, Victor’s clear surprise making him stumble a step behind. Once he was near enough to the mattress, Yuuri pushed him down face first.

“So graceful,” Yuuri said dryly. “You must have practiced countless hours for a landing like that.”

Victor slowly turned around, eyes wide with shock and a little hurt. Yuuri realized they hadn’t talked about what to do if things went too far. The scene had already started, though, and the time to talk about it had passed. _Just be careful,_ Yuuri said to himself. _Go a little easy, this first time._

“Well? Aren’t you going to strip?” Yuuri demanded. “Or are you really as bad at this as they all say?”

With trembling hands Victor unbuttoned his shirt, his blue eyes watching Yuuri carefully. His tongue flickered out to wet his lips.

Yuuri climbed on top of him, pinning down his arms. “So slow. I didn’t ask for a show, Nikiforov.” Yuuri leaned down and claimed another kiss, loving the way Victor arced against him. It told Yuuri everything he needed to know—Victor was enjoying himself already. Yuuri internalized that positive reinforcement, storing it, letting it build his confidence a little higher.

Yuuri lifted up and slowly ran his hands down Victor’s exposed chest. It was absolutely gorgeous, his skin even and his muscles rippling and trembling beneath his touch. Yuuri’s inner fanboy purred contentedly.

“Perfect body for a perfect skater,” Yuuri said, his tone mocking. “Doesn’t work so well now, does it? When was the last time you won gold at anything?”

“Russian Nationals, last year,” Victor fired back.

Oh. He wanted to argue. Yuuri had expected him to passively take everything hurled at him, but this was good, too. In fact, it might be even more fun. “And how much of that was because you sucked up to the judges, hm? Would you have won if Plisetsky didn’t piss them off?”

Before Victor could respond, Yuuri lowered himself and nibbled on Victor’s stomach, making the man yelp and shudder. He made no protest to the use of teeth, however, so Yuuri made sure to get his fill.

“What’s it like, to fall so hard?” Yuuri asked. He pulled Victor up just enough to slide off his shirt, then pushed him back down. “To be on top of the world, only to get beaten by your own protégé? A boy twelve years younger than you, winning gold at an age before you even joined the senior division. It must have hurt. You must’ve realized how worthless your skating was.”

Yuuri saw Victor’s face scrunch up in pain or anger, and he told himself to dial it back a bit. “But—I suppose you still have your fans, no matter how misguided they are.” He unfastened Victor’s pants, slowly sliding them down his hips. “If only they knew.”

Yuuri didn’t specify what he meant on purpose, knowing Victor’s mind would have no trouble filling in the blanks. He gave himself a moment to rest by freeing Victor’s cock, which was clearly enjoying Yuuri’s treatment. Yuuri rewarded it with a few teasing licks, satisfied when Victor groaned in response.

“I used to be one of them, you know,” Yuuri said as he took Victor’s dick in his hand, licking it in spurts like it was an ice cream cone. “I considered myself the biggest fan of Victor Nikiforov, and would fight anyone who challenged me. My childhood bedroom had your posters all over its walls. A couple of them even followed me to college. I was so naïve, back then. I didn’t yet know how big of an asshole you were. How arrogant. How overrated.”

Victor openly moaned now, making no effort to challenge Yuuri’s claims.

“I used to dream of the man I thought you were,” Yuuri said, sitting up to look down on him. He kept a hand on Victor’s dick, stroking it lazily, loving the way it pulsed with arousal every time Yuuri spoke. “After you hurt me, those dreams changed, finally showing me the truth. You were uncaring. Rude. Weak. You were the pinnacle of a lonely asshole, always seeking validation from those few who stood above you, never caring to look below your feet. You wouldn’t have given me the time of day if you hadn’t thought I was attractive, dangling a cherry over my head.”

Yuuri climbed off the bed, and stripped off the rest of Victor’s clothes. He lay naked, sprawled out and flushed with arousal, watching Yuuri carefully as his fingers dug into the blanket.

“I suppose having adoring fans can do that to a person,” Yuuri said, as though this were a conversation. He tugged his own shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor before grabbing the lube on the nightstand. “You start to feel like you can do nothing wrong—that you deserve everything you’re given.” He planted himself next to Victor, making a show of covering his hand in lube. “But you know, deep down, you don’t deserve it.” Yuuri slid his hand beneath Victor’s balls, probing his fingers along his ass crack. Victor gave a shuddering gasp. “You _know_ you’re worthless. You know that the moment you stop smiling, the moment you get off the ice, you don’t mean anything anymore. You’re just a person, and not a very good one.” Yuuri slid a finger inside, and Victor lifted his thighs to give him better access. “Sometimes, I bet you want to tell them the truth. You want to stop the world for a moment, and tell them you’re shit. But they won’t listen. They care so little about you that you can’t even persuade them to listen to the truth. They don’t see who you are. They only see who they think you are, who they want you to be.”

Yuuri’s careful attention slowly made Victor come undone, the man trembling and gasping and all but begging for more.

Yuuri wanted to change that last bit.

“I’m not someone who knows you, yet,” Yuuri said, withdrawing his hand. “But I see you. I see right through that smile and those clothes. You _want_ me to see you.” He picked up his discarded t-shirt and wiped his hand on it before stripping off his lower garments. He grabbed the condom he’d left on the nightstand. “You want me to see just how worthless you are. Just how pathetic. You want me to step on that massive ego of yours and flatten it to the ground.” Yuuri slid on the condom, his dick aching at the sight before him. Victor’s lips were parted with want, his carefully-maintained hair plastered to his face with sweat, and Yuuri decided he’d never seen anything so beautiful. Not even Victor’s skating could compare.

Yuuri grabbed Victor’s thighs and pushed him over. Next time, he’d want to look at Victor’s face while they fucked, but this time…

“On your hands and knees,” Yuuri said coldly. Victor rolled over slowly, his body sluggish and probably in something like a trance. He wanted Victor to wake back up to the moment, to pay attention to what Yuuri was doing to him.

But, just for a moment, Yuuri thoroughly admired the view. He ran his hands along Victor’s muscular, perfect ass, and traced the beautiful curve of his sides as they narrowed into his slender waist, then jutted out to meet his wide shoulders. His back rippled with muscles that made Yuuri want to groan. Yuuri’s inner fanboy wanted to fall to his knees in worship of Victor’s beauty, but he knew it would ruin the moment. Perhaps someday, in a different context, Yuuri could convince Victor to switch the roles a little. Just not today.

“So,” Yuuri said, snaking his hand around to stroke Victor’s face. He probed into his mouth with two fingers, a shudder trembling through Yuuri when Victor obediently sucked. “Just how does one take down the magnificent tower that is Victor Nikiforov? How can I… _push_ him down?” Yuuri withdrew his hand and pressed his hips against Victor’s backside for emphasis.

“Uhn… You already know how.”

Yuuri pressed again, teasingly. “What do you want, Victor?”

“Nnn…”

“Tell me, or you’re getting what you deserve. Which, of course, is nothing.”

Victor laughed, a small, desperate sound. “Fuck me, Yuuri.”

“No,” Yuuri said, and pressed again.

Victor groaned. “Fuck me.”

Yuuri waited, his dick slowly rutting against Victor’s ass. Just a little more…

“P-please, Yuuri,” Victor said. “Please.”

“There we are,” Yuuri said, and pushed inside. Victor gasped and let out a sob, his whole body pulsing around Yuuri. Yuuri was in heaven, Victor so tight around him, but accommodating as well, easily adjusting to Yuuri’s intrusion. He tried to keep the pleasure from his voice. “You need to work on your manners, Nikiforov. The lowly men beneath you deserve some respect, too.”

Victor let out a breathy sound that might’ve been a laugh. “There’s nothing lowly about you, Katsuki.”

Yuuri was glad Victor couldn’t see him get flustered at that. Praise could really put a dent in his persona, he realized. He drove into Victor, hard enough to make him cry out. “You’re right. Right now, you’re the lowest person in the room. Who would want to watch you skate, knowing you were on your knees, getting fucked by your costume designer? Every jump that wasn’t perfect, they’d say, ‘oh, it’s because he got fucked. His ass must be sore.’”

Yuuri gave a few forceful thrusts to drive the point home, and suddenly Victor seized, crying out in a loud, sobbing voice.

He’d finished.

But how? Yuuri had only been inside him for a handful of minutes. Neither of them had even touched his dick since they’d started fucking.

Yuuri withdrew, unsure what to do next. Victor had the top half of his face pressed down into the pillows, the bottom half gasping for air as he came down from his orgasm. Yuuri watched as he slowly turned onto his back. When their eyes met, Victor sat up, tore the condom off, and slid Yuuri’s whole length down his throat.

Yuuri shuddered, the sudden wet pleasure setting his blood on fire. It probably wasn’t the most sanitary practice on Victor’s part, but Yuuri couldn’t find the strength to tell him to stop. Victor was sucking his dick like this was a porno, taking all of Yuuri with a pace that would make a normal person gag. Yuuri stifled a moan with his mouth, but then wondered why he was bothering. Victor had to know this felt good.

Victor reached up and grasped Yuuri’s hand, then guided it to his sweat-stained hair. Yuuri squeezed on impulse, and Victor groaned encouragingly, slowing his pace and opening up. Yuuri got the message. He fucked Victor’s beautiful mouth with rapid thrusts, and as the moment caught up to Yuuri’s brain, he found he couldn’t hold back. He came without warning down Victor’s throat, making the man cough just a little before Yuuri withdrew.

Spent, Victor fell back onto the bed, his beautiful chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths. He lifted his arms and beckoned Yuuri to him.

Yuuri went as if drawn to him magnetically, his body collapsing and curling up beside him.

“That was amazing, Yuuri,” Victor said breathlessly. “Absolutely amazing. I thought your confidence might’ve been overstated, but—wow. You blew me away.”

Yuuri curled into himself more tightly.

“Yuuri, what’s wrong? You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

Tears leaked from his eyes, though he didn’t know why. So many emotions swirled in his head that he couldn’t pick one apart from the others, couldn’t tell if he was hurting or happy or sad or just overwhelmed. Probably everything at once.

“Was it too much for you?” Victor asked, clearly concerned but also afraid of the answer.

Yuuri shook his head. “Just— _you’re_ too much. I never thought I’d be with you like this. I never dreamed you would—would want me like this.” He wiped his eyes furiously, wishing he could stop crying already.

“Do you… hate it?”

“No!” Yuuri cried. “The exact opposite.”

Victor let out a relieved sigh, and tightened his hold on Yuuri. “You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing what to do with you,” he said. “I never expected you to be like this. I was—unprepared for how well you did. As you might’ve noticed, my body gave in embarrassingly early. You were too good.”

“I—was?” Yuuri asked, dumbfounded.

“You might’ve only fucked my ass for a few minutes, but the moment you started with the insults was the moment you started thoroughly fucking my head—and I don’t mean it in the literal way you did, just now. Your words—they were almost too real, at times. It’s like you know me already, inside and out, all my vulnerabilities and fears. It was surreal. I’m afraid to ask how you did it.”

“It’s because I…” Yuuri trailed off, trying to gather his words. “I spent so much of my life admiring you. Looking up to you. Learning about you. I’d watch your performances every day, scour the internet looking for articles about you, interviews you’d done. I wasn’t lying when I said I was your biggest fan. I convinced myself that I _knew_ you, which was why it hurt so much when you stole my design. I began to doubt everything I thought I knew, and came up with negative explanations for all the things I once liked about you. The insults come easily because I used to believe they were true.”

“Do you think they’re all wrong?” Victor asked.

Yuuri turned, facing Victor with a smile. “It doesn’t matter how true they are to me. All that matters is that a part of you believes they _could_ be true.”

Victor frowned. “I’d rather know if my boyfriend thinks I’m worthless.”

Yuuri flushed at the word _boyfriend._ It shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, but the word hit him straight in the chest. “You know I don’t think you’re worthless.” Yuuri brushed his lips softly against Victor’s. “Quite the opposite. It still dumbfounds me that you took any interest in me at all.”

“I hope you know you’re not getting away from me, after this,” Victor said. His fingers warmly stroked the back of Yuuri’s neck. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy.”

“Just keep being you, and I’ll be happy,” Yuuri said, settling back down and resting his head on Victor’s shoulder. His inner fanboy hummed pleasurably, now that there was nothing left to hold him back.

Yuuri dozed, mildly aware of Victor getting up and then returning, though if asked how long the man was gone, Yuuri would have no idea. He had no trouble returning to his position curled against Victor, and once the sheet and blanket were arranged more comfortably on top of them, Yuuri fell back asleep.

Yuuri became aware of a flash against his eyelids, forcing him awake.

“What was that?” Yuuri asked groggily.

“Ah—sorry. I was snapping a picture.” He seemed to be typing as he said that.

“A picture? Of what?”

“Chris asked me to snap him a photo of you and me,” Victor said, showing Yuuri the photo he’d taken with his phone. “I had forgotten until just now. Is that alright? It will be deleted after he sees it.”

Yuuri leaned in close, squinting at the screen. “Il es—est—what does it say? Is it French?”

“ _Il est meilleur que toi,”_ Victor said, his voice gliding through the syllables fluently. “He’s better than you.”

“Oh.” Yuuri flushed when he saw himself in the photo, eyes closed in sleep.

“Would you like to take a different one, since you’re awake?”

“N-no, that’s alright,” Yuuri said. “Am I really… better?”

Victor released a breath, hitting send on the snap. “Chris was very good at what he did, but after a while it was clear he was running out of ideas. It still worked on me, because I knew a lot of what he was saying was true in some way, but over the years I could tell he was doing it more as a favor and less that he really _wanted_ to. I might be assuming here, but you seem like you really want to do this—and not just to appease me.”

“You’re not wrong,” Yuuri said, closing his eyes against the harsh light of the screen. He really disliked phones in bed.

As if sensing his discontent, Victor turned off the screen and set the phone on the nightstand. “So is this a kink for you, too?”

“Probably not on the same level as it is for you,” Yuuri said. “I don’t really need it.”

“But you enjoy it?”

“Obviously.”

Victor shifted, moving his arm to a more comfortable position beneath Yuuri’s head. “It’s not as obvious as you might think,” he said quietly. “I’ve had people pretend before. Tell me they like it when it’s actually painful for them, just to make me happy. I don’t want you to do that.”

“I’m not,” Yuuri said. “Not to sound like an awful person, but I’m not really the type who can sacrifice my own well-being for the sake of others. It’s hard enough to keep myself afloat. I care about people, and help them out when I can, but that sort of thing… I don’t think I could do it. If it were too painful, I’d have to stop.”

“Mm… As soon as I said it, I knew it didn’t sound like something that fit you,” Victor said. “But you understand, Yuuri, I _have_ to be sure. Both to protect you, and myself. I don’t want to endure false hope again.”

Yuuri hadn’t realized how painful it must have been for Victor, to have done something like this before, made himself so vulnerable, and been disappointed in the end. He lifted up to look Victor in the eyes, even though it was dark and Yuuri couldn’t see well. “I like it, Victor. I like it more than I thought I would. I liked it so much it almost scares me, except I know that this is something you really, truly want from me. I feel like there are a million other ways things could go wrong between us, but this—this seems pretty right.”

Yuuri could see just well enough to know that Victor closed his eyes, features twisting into an expression that seemed to be full of pain. “Thank you, Yuuri,” he said in a strained, barely-audible voice. “Just—thank you. For reassuring me, for being with me, for—being who you are.” He sniffed. “Even if it ends tomorrow, just having this, having tonight, has done more for me than you can believe.”

“It won’t end tomorrow,” Yuuri said, gently wiping away a tear from Victor’s face. “You forget I still have to finish your costumes.”

Victor gave a watery laugh, and captured Yuuri’s hand with his own. “My heart was right about you. I kept wondering why it told me to talk to you, to make amends, to get to know you. I see now it’s because I needed you in my life. You’re what I was searching for, all this time, and I’m so glad I found you.”

Something like that could only be whispered in the dark, Yuuri thought. Feelings unearthed from deep, deep inside, utterances so raw and honest that Yuuri wouldn’t believe them in the light of day.

But here in the dark, nestled in the covers of his bed, encircled in the arms of his new lover, Yuuri could believe. Believe not just in the words Victor said, but the feelings behind them, the echoes of loneliness and longing, the yearning that resonated with Yuuri’s own heart. The burning desperation to find someone who understood you, someone who wanted to learn everything about you, someone who wanted to soothe your hurts and make you happy.

Someone who wanted to love you.

It felt too early to think of that word, and yet there was no other way to describe what he felt. Yuuri couldn’t yet say with confidence that he was _in love_ , but he knew that there was a very real part of him that wanted to love Victor, and wanted to be loved by him in return. It was a part of him that had been buried for years under a mountain of hurt, one that felt old, tired, and neglected—happy to be revitalized, but wary of the harsh realities of the world. It was sobering to think how much work it would take to trust himself and let that part of him thrive—and yet, for the first time in a long time, Yuuri found himself eager to try.

* * *

 

Yuuri awoke early, fingers of pink light streaming in from the high windows above the bed. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep for the night, yet he’d been so comfortable in Victor’s arms, and so contentedly exhausted after having sex that he apparently couldn’t help it.

Yuuri sat up alone, and looked over to his nightstand, expecting to find a note explaining Victor’s absence. Instead, all he found was the bottle of lube, and Victor’s phone.

Victor’s clothes still littered the floor, and a brief glance around the corner confirmed that the man they belonged to was simply in the bathroom.

Yuuri didn’t know why he felt so relieved.

He heard the shower turn on, and Yuuri fell back onto the bed, his head sinking into the pillow. It was so early, but he’d gotten plenty of sleep—it couldn’t have been long after 10pm when he fell asleep in Victor’s arms. Though Yuuri couldn’t see the clock, he knew it had to be sometime before 6am, which was a good two hours before he usually woke, provided he hadn’t stayed up late working.

He wondered how early Victor usually got up.

Yuuri listened to the splash, splash, splash of Victor’s shower, wondering whose shampoo he’d helped himself to. Probably Phichit’s. It smelled like coconuts and was far more expensive than the generic stuff Yuuri bought.

Speaking of Phichit…

Yuuri got up to grab his phone from where he’d left it on the kitchen bar, intent on sending Phichit a text to ask where he was, and when he might be coming back.

Before he could so much as unlock his phone, however, Yuuri heard a scraping sound downstairs, and the familiar thuds of someone trudging up the stairs.

“Oh,” Phichit said with surprise upon seeing Yuuri. “Hey, naked.”

Yuuri hadn’t realized he was without clothes until just then, but he wasn’t exactly embarrassed about it. “Hi. I was just about to text you.”

Phichit yawned. “What, and wake me up this early?” He winked. “Victor still around?”

“In the shower,” Yuuri said, going to pull some clothes out of the chest of drawers near the bed. He was dying to tell his friend about everything that happened, but there were certain things he probably shouldn’t share with Phichit. “Oh, I should probably give him a robe or something…”

“Stick mine in there for him,” Phichit said, putting his bag down in his desk chair.

Yuuri knocked on the door to the bathroom, and briefly let himself in. “I’m leaving you a robe, since Phichit came home,” he said over the sound of the shower.

Just as Yuuri was about to step back out of the bathroom, the sound of the shower stopped, and Victor pushed aside the curtain, smiling at Yuuri. “Thank you. Sorry to stay over until morning.”

“N-no, I’m—I’m glad you did,” Yuuri said. He couldn’t look directly at Victor for more than a second, his dripping nakedness in the harsh light of the bathroom too intense for Yuuri to handle. “Do you have to leave soon?”

“I’m taking it easy today,” Victor said, toweling himself off with a sigh. “You left me a little sore.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said earnestly.

Victor stepped out of the shower, and gently grasped Yuuri’s chin. “Trust me, Yuuri—you have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” Yuuri thought Victor might kiss him, but he pulled away, rubbing some of the drips off of his neck. “I hadn’t planned on staying the night, otherwise I would have brought my own things. Might I borrow your toothbrush?”

Yuuri made sure Victor had everything he needed before leaving the bathroom, still reeling from being so close to him while naked. It was absurd, he knew, considering how intimate they’d been last night, but it was hard to be so close to perfection and not feel affected by it. It was one thing to fuck Victor in the open apartment, the only light the dim orange sunset; it was another thing entirely to be in close-quarters with him in a small, brightly-lit, steamy bathroom.

Yuuri shook his head to clear away those trailing thoughts.

“I’m just here to grab some clothes, and I’ll be out of your way,” Phichit said, shoving a wad of garments into his bag.

“You can stay if you like,” Yuuri offered.

“Nah. I’m keeping Guang-Hong company for his training this morning.”

“Oh? Did you three make up?”

“We were never fighting,” Phichit said, rubbing his elbows. “I never told them anything, so they don’t think anything was wrong. Which is fine.”

It didn’t seem all that fine to Yuuri. “Are you still going to talk to them?”

Phichit shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not this morning, anyway.”

Yuuri went to him, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “I’m worried about you. You need to tell them how you feel.”

“I should probably work out how I feel, first,” Phichit said, smiling weakly. He shrugged Yuuri’s touch and shouldered his bag. “I’ll be fine, Yuuri—don’t worry about me. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be wanting to know all the details later.”

Yuuri smiled back, though he didn’t feel reassured. “Alright. Come back before too late—the new printer is supposed to arrive this afternoon, and I’ll need help setting it up.”

“Sure thing.” After a slight hesitation, Phichit gave Yuuri a peck on the cheek. He left the apartment, and Yuuri heard the distant click of the front door.

A moment later Victor emerged, clad in Phichit’s fluffy robe. It was so small on him that it barely covered half his thighs.  “Is he alright? Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“He’s—I want to say he’s fine, but I don’t think he is,” Yuuri said, hugging himself. “I don’t know what’s wrong, though.”

“It’s hard to believe you two have only known each other for a year,” Victor said. “You act like you’ve been friends all your life.”

Yuuri shook his head. “That’s just Phichit—he’s really friendly and affectionate, most of the time.”

Victor rubbed his chin, and Yuuri found himself fascinated by the rough sound it produced. He’d never seen Victor with facial hair, not that much was visible right then. “It’s more than that, I think. You two clearly care about each other more than most people who have known each other for the same amount of time. It’s almost like…”

Yuuri waited for him to finish, but got impatient. “Like what?”

Victor released a sigh. “Nothing. I don’t want to inject my observations when I don’t know as much as I should.” He smiled at Yuuri. “Good morning.”

Yuuri still wondered what Victor was going to say, but let it slide. He smiled back. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a long time.” Victor opened his arms, beckoning Yuuri into them. “What about you?”

When Yuuri accepted the hug, Victor gave him a soft kiss to his hair. “I hadn’t meant to fall asleep so early, but I couldn’t help it. I was so comfortable with you.”

Victor laughed, a sound of pure, unfiltered joy that both startled Yuuri and made him happy in equal measure. “Aren’t we just hopeless?”

Yuuri laughed too, loving the feel of Victor surrounding him. “A bit. Are you staying for breakfast?”

“I might, if you make it worth it,” Victor said, pressing his nose into Yuuri’s neck.

“I think we have the ingredients to make French toast,” Yuuri said. “Let me check.”

“French toast? Are you offering to _cook_ for me?”

“Depends on if we have the things I need,” Yuuri said. He tried to make for the kitchen, but Victor held tightly, and Yuuri found himself giggling. “Victor…”

“Just a minute longer,” Victor said, planting kisses along Yuuri’s neck and face. “I just need a little more to reassure myself that you’re real.”

“If anyone’s dreaming here, it’s me,” Yuuri said, finding himself getting a little drunk on Victor’s affection.

Victor finally released him, but followed him closely to the kitchen. “I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

Yuuri opened the freezer, glad to find his reserve of thickly-sliced bread. “I don’t. But I that doesn’t mean I never learned how.” He opened the fridge and pulled out milk and eggs, and even found some strawberries Phichit must have brought home. Yuuri decided to text him to ask if he could use a few of them. “Besides, this is really simple. I already knew kitchen basics from my parents, but my first roommate in college taught me how to make this.”

Victor sat down at the bar, watching Yuuri work. Every time Yuuri so much as glanced back at him, he was smiling, as if all he’d ever wanted was to watch Yuuri make breakfast.

“You’re from Japan, aren’t you?” Victor asked.

It had been a long time since anyone had asked him that. “Well, yes. I figured my accent would give it away.”

“I’m terrible with placing accents,” Victor said. “You sound more American to me than some American skaters I’ve met. You’ve been here… how long?”

Yuuri had to stop and count. “Seven years, almost.”

“And how did you choose to come here?”

Yuuri stiffened. “It’s… a long story.”

“Right now I’ve got nowhere else to be,” Victor said. “I’d like to hear it, if you’ll tell me. I feel as though you know so much more about me than I know about you.”

“Well…” Yuuri whipped together the milk and eggs. “It’s kind of embarrassing. When I was thirteen, I was frustrated with the fact that I couldn’t find many articles about you that were translated into Japanese. So, at first, I tried to learn Russian. It turns out there aren’t all that many resources for learning Russian from Japanese, at least not many that were accessible to a thirteen-year-old. But there _were_ plenty of English resources, and lots of your articles were translated into English, so I put my efforts towards learning that, instead. It took a few years for me to get any sort of skill with reading it, but I managed, and eventually joined an online group for exchanging translations, where I’d trade Japanese to English translations for Russian to English translations of articles about you.” Yuuri cringed as he listened to himself, glad Victor couldn’t see his face.

“So you learned English… and then what?”

“It was sort of on a whim that I came here. The opportunity fell into my lap through a program that offered scholarships to those who could speak English and wanted to study abroad. At that point in my life I didn’t have any strong direction—I knew I wanted to make costumes, but aside from basic machine sewing and following pattern directions, I didn’t really know how. One of the colleges listed had an art program for fashion design, so I chose that one, got accepted, and moved here. For a while it felt like a string was pulling me along, like I didn’t really have a choice—almost like this was where I was _meant_ to be, as absurd as it sounds.”

“I’m very familiar with that string,” Victor said. “I’ll bet it’s the same one that pulled me into skating as a child, or brought me here to you.”

Yuuri flushed. How could Victor keep saying things like that so casually? They barely knew each other.

Then again, that was the whole reason Victor had asked for this story to begin with.

“It’s strange to think of you as my fan, no matter how many times you say it,” Victor said. “Usually I keep a respectful distance from my fans, but it’s hard for me to put you in the same category.”

“I guess that’s where hating you worked in my favor,” Yuuri teased. He tossed some butter into his frying pan, satisfied it was hot enough by the way it sizzled. Just as he removed the thawed bread from the microwave, his phone buzzed in his pocket, Phichit confirming that he could use the strawberries as long as they were replaced later.

“I’m still sorry about what happened,” Victor said. “I know you’re tired of hearing my apologies, but it still hits me hard every time I’m reminded of it. Even if you’ve forgiven me, I’m finding it difficult to forgive myself for being so careless.”

“I would say ‘don’t worry about it’, but I know that’s not really how guilt works,” Yuuri said as he soaked slices of bread in the milk, egg, vanilla, and cinnamon mixture. “Especially with me around, you’ll be reminded of it often in the things I do or say, or just in the way I regard you. I can’t really change that, because that experience is undeniably a part of who I am, now.”

“You shouldn’t try to change it.”

“Don’t worry; I’m not.” Yuuri placed the bread onto the pan, noticed it was too hot, and turned down the flame a little before rushing to wash his egg-soaked hand. “All I can really do is say that you’re forgiven, and do my best to help you internalize it. The costumes I’m making you will help.”

“You think so?”

Yuuri went back to the pan and prodded the edges of the bread with his cooking chopsticks. He waited a moment, then began flipping the slices over. “I hope so. Right now they’re helping me fulfill a dream I thought was shattered forever, and the work is a healing a wound I thought had scarred over years ago. I’m hoping they’ll show you that I’m still capable of admiring you, even after everything that happened. Because I… I really do.”

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to turn around, his cheeks flaming as hard as they were. He used the cooking as an excuse to keep his eyes on the pan.

“I’m very grateful you gave me a chance to earn your forgiveness,” Victor said. “So grateful that the word doesn’t seem strong enough to describe how much I appreciate it. It makes me want to shower you with everything I have, on the off chance that something might give you the happiness you deserve.”

“You shouldn’t—shouldn’t go that far,” Yuuri said, losing some of his composure. “You’re—what you’re doing now is more than enough.”

“What I’m doing now?” Victor asked, laughter in his voice. “You mean—just bringing you food? Because that’s hardly—”

“Wanting me,” Yuuri said. His head felt like it was boiling, to admit something like that. It was all he could do to concentrate on keeping the toast from burning.

Victor didn’t say anything as Yuuri put the toast on two plates, drizzled syrup, and sliced a handful of strawberries to arrange on top. He still didn’t speak as Yuuri dusted their breakfast with powdered sugar, nor when he placed cutlery in front of him.

Yuuri couldn’t even look at Victor’s face as he set the plate in front of him at the bar. He felt so pathetic to have just about admitted that simply being _wanted_ by his one-time idol was more than he could have ever dreamed of.

Yuuri turned to retrieve the orange juice from the fridge, but before he could wrap his fingers around the neck of the glass bottle, he was yanked back into a sudden embrace.

“Yuuri,” Victor said, his voice dripping with affection, “of _course_ I want you. That’s the easiest thing I could possibly give you.”

Yuuri felt his body turn of its own accord, as if it knew there was a certain way to be held by Victor. He pressed his face against Victor’s shoulder, willing himself not to cry. There was no reason to, but the magnitude of emotions coursing through him was intensely overwhelming. Part of him wanted to run away and hide, but a much bigger, stronger part of him told him he was right where he needed to be.

Victor’s arms were strong and solid, and the assured way he held Yuuri was enough to eventually calm him. Yuuri finally pulled away, unsure what to say.

Smiles, it seemed, were enough to let the moment pass. Victor didn’t ask any more of Yuuri than he wanted to give, and for that, Yuuri found himself immensely grateful. They ate their breakfast with mild chatter about skating and costumes, and afterwards, Victor made to leave.

“When can I see you again?” Yuuri asked as Victor approached the door. He didn’t want to sound pathetic again, but he couldn’t hold back the question.

Victor, at least, looked pleased that Yuuri asked. “Tomorrow.” He walked his fingers along Yuuri’s neck. “I’ll bring you whatever you like. Or—we could go out again.”

Yuuri nodded, shivering at Victor’s touch. “I—look forward to it.”

Victor’s hand moved up to Yuuri’s hair, and they came together in a soft parting kiss. It made Yuuri’s blood rise in a way that was distinctly different than the heated kisses they’d shared before, but somehow no less intense.

Victor withdrew, and gave Yuuri a look unlike anything he’d seen before on the man. On the surface it seemed gentle, but the longer they looked at each other, the more Yuuri could see through the cracks. He caught glimpses of the joy and excitement Victor withheld, of the fear and uncertainty that Yuuri felt echoed in his own heart.

Yuuri could have stared at Victor Nikiforov for the rest of his life. He watched as the man turned, got in his car, and drove away. His eyes lingered down the road long after he was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Victor didn’t quite know what to think.

And yet, his mind refused to shut up. After exhausting himself on the ice, he had intended to take a nice long bath in his apartment, then relax for the rest of the night. But despite the gentle music wafting from his phone, the fragrant bath salts, the steamy water and the small glass of wine, Victor found he couldn’t relax for more than a minute. Every time the moment got too quiet, flashes of last night jolted through his head. A phrase Yuuri used, a commandeering touch, that throaty moan he let out when Victor sucked him dry…. It wasn’t enough to turn Victor on, as he was quite sated at that moment, but his heart pounded and breath hitched all the same.

It had just been so unexpected. The _best_ Victor had thought he could hope for was that Yuuri would reluctantly give it a try, maybe cultivate a talent for it over time and eventually be good enough to convince Victor’s mind the insults were true.

Instead, he got a demon in a shy man’s body.

Yuuri’s cruel tongue had pierced open Victor’s mind in a way Victor had been wholly unprepared for, and he still shuddered to think how quickly he’d succumbed to orgasm. The whole encounter had taken him completely by surprise, from that first intense kiss, to the manhandling, to the insults that seamlessly transitioned into intimate character analyses, to that moment when Yuuri coerced Victor into begging—and then to that beautiful finale of intercourse, completely shattering Victor’s entire being for a few blissful minutes.

In a perfect world, Victor would have had the energy to draw out Yuuri’s pleasure, to make his orgasm just as intense as Victor’s had been, but it had taken almost all his remaining strength just to offer that sloppy blowjob in return. Yuuri didn’t seem to mind, but he deserved better.

With a sigh Victor ended his bath, draining his wine before toweling off. He needed to talk to someone before he went insane. He texted Chris to see if he was awake, then called not a full minute after he’d received a reply.

“ _Well, hello. Are congratulations in order, or were we exaggerating?”_

“I was understating, if anything. He’s a natural, Chris. I would have never guessed.”

_“Then, congratulations. When’s the wedding?”_

Victor laughed nervously. “You jest, but I’m feeling a little insane about him right now. If he proposed tomorrow, I don’t think I’d say no.”

_“Wow. Does he know?”_

“Of course not! He might not have run away screaming when I told him what I wanted in bed, but I’m almost positive he would if I said I wanted to _marry him_ this soon. I’d be a little worried if he didn’t. But still…”

_“This is getting pretty serious, isn’t it?”_

“I don’t know, Chris,” Victor said, his voice trembling. “I don’t know. I think it is, but I’m honestly terrified.”

_“Calm down, Victor,”_ Chris said in that low, soothing voice of his. It honestly helped. _“You’ve got the start of something good, here. Does he seem to return your affections, at least? He’s not aloof towards you, is he?”_

“He seems as scared as I am, which is morbidly reassuring. And he’s… I don’t know. Sometimes he says or does something to remind me that he was once an obsessed fan of mine, and it… It’s a strange feeling. I wish I knew how to describe it.”

_“Is it a good feeling, or a bad one?”_

“Yes,” Victor said. “I like that he knows about me, that he once took such an intense interest in me. Sometimes he even lets his admiration show. But I feel uncomfortable with the imbalance, him knowing so much more about me than I him. Plus it’s not as though he _really_ knows me, though sometimes it seems like he does… But he’s an almost complete mystery to me, and I find myself itching to learn every scrap of information I can about him. He gets really uncomfortable talking about himself, though, and I—”

_“You’re rambling.”_

Victor sighed. “I know; I’m sorry. My mind is a mess tonight. But to simplify, yes—I think he returns my feelings. Not in the same way, obviously, but he has a peculiar way of showing his care towards people. It took me a few days, but I think I’m starting to recognize it.”

_“Well, whatever’s going on, it has you chattering like a parakeet, which I’m taking to be a good sign. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this passionate about anything. This Yuuri seems to really get your juices flowing.”_

Victor groaned. “You have no idea, Chris. He’s amazing.”

Chris chuckled. _“A natural, you said?”_

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Honestly surprised me, and you know not much surprises me anymore.”

_“So what, was he just a really good actor?”_

“He was… into it,” Victor said reluctantly. He felt as though he might be sharing a little too much, but he needed to talk about it with _someone_ , and he knew Chris wouldn’t tell a soul. “I told him what I needed, he went to the bathroom, and came out a completely different person. At least, that’s what it seemed like. No warning, no discussion beforehand, he was just… _on_.”

_“Impressive. I look forward to meeting him.”_

“I’ll be interested in what you think of him,” Victor said. “Honestly, looking at him, you wouldn’t believe that he’d be capable of performing that way.”

_“Well, it’s not as though you project_ your _desires to the world, Victor. People can hide themselves in the light of day.”_

“True.” Victor sighed again. “I think I love him, Chris.”

Chris chuckled. _“Well, that’s obvious. Just be careful. I’m hoping for the best, for your sake, but I know how hard you can fall when you’re left open like this.”_

Victor worried at his lip nervously. “I don’t think I can help it, anymore. Either it will work out or it won’t, but either way, I’m already lost to him.”

_“Don’t do this again, Victor,”_ Chris said sternly. _“You have control over yourself, and you have power, no matter how much of it you want to relinquish in bed. He doesn’t deserve all of you, yet. He hasn’t earned it.”_

“If things continue like this, it won’t be long until he has,” Victor said, pleasant memories of the past week filling his head. “I didn’t even mention the costume he’s made me. It was my first fitting, and Chris—it fit _perfectly._ Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a costume fit perfectly on the first try?”

_“So he’s good at what he does; is it that unusual?”_

“It’s hard to describe, but he _notices_ me in a way I’m not usually noticed. The way he described how he designed the pattern to fit my shoulders, how he adjusted it to my movements, it really felt like he was making something _just for me._ And he was so excited to have me try it on—usually he’s good at hiding what he’s feeling, but this time he seemed almost _giddy._ I know this doesn’t really mean anything to you, since you don’t know him, but I wish you could understand how special he made me feel.”

_“Victor Nikiforov getting special treatment?”_ Chris quipped dryly. _“What is this world coming to?”_

Victor had walked right into that one so blindly he couldn’t help but laugh. “Shut up. Just trust me that it’s different, alright?”

Chris exhaled audibly, sounding exasperated. _“Alright, but I still think you’re getting too far ahead of yourself, love. I just want the best for you, and it feels too early to tell if this guy is it. I’m glad you’ve found someone to have fun with, though. You really needed it.”_

Victor paused. _Was_ he having fun? It felt like things had been too intense to really have _fun,_ but that didn’t mean they were any less fulfilling or made him any less happy. What he had with Yuuri wasn’t _fun,_ but important. Fun was temporary, this was… “I think he’s everything I needed.”

_“Come again? You were practically whispering.”_

“Nothing, nevermind,” Victor said hastily, realizing how lost he sounded. “I think I’m going to head to bed early tonight.”

_“What? Isn’t it ridiculously early there? As in, before dinner?”_

“I—” Victor honestly hadn’t realized what time it was. A glance at the clock told him it was only about 8. “Maybe not bed, then, but I need to relax. Shouldn’t _you_ be asleep, though?”

_“Off-day tomorrow. They closed the rink for some emergency repairs, so I’m not bothering to get up early.”_

“Not two years ago, you’d drive for an hour to the other rink,” Victor said. “How far we’ve fallen.”

_“Hey, I’d go if it weren’t still off-season. You know I like to start slow and take my time.”_ He’d said it in a decidedly suggestive voice, one that once made Victor weak in the knees.

Right now, though, it seemed just a bit much. “Well, enjoy sleeping in, then. Thanks for the chit-chat.”

_“Always my pleasure, dear friend. Enjoy the new boyfriend. Keep me posted.”_

“You know I will.” Victor hung up, feeling suddenly drained. Talking to Chris usually helped things make sense, or at least helped relax him, but this time Victor couldn’t enjoy himself at all. He felt on edge, tense and anxious and entirely unsure of the source.

He tried to read, but the book wasn’t grabbing him, his mind too active to focus. He made himself a dinner of chicken, salad, and more wine, but even as he ate he couldn’t stop thinking and remembering. It was stressful to constantly feel this unsettled. Victor knew that even if he tried to sleep early, his mind likely wouldn’t let him.

“You’re a mess, Victor,” he muttered to himself in Russian. It felt good to use his mother tongue. He thought about calling someone from back home, but it was still too early for anyone to be awake, much less anyone that wanted to hear from him. He scrolled through his contacts, trying to think of someone to distract him that might be awake.

His finger only hesitated a second after the name came into view. Victor held up the phone to his ear with a trembling hand, listening to it ring, ring, ring. Five slow rings, and Victor was sure the click that came after was about to tell him to leave a message. But there was a breath, and a pause.

_“Hello? Victor?”_

Just the voice, just the sound of his voice uttering his name began to settle him. “Yuuri.” He couldn’t really think of what to say, but he knew he wanted to say at least that much.

_“Is something wrong?”_

_No, nothing’s wrong,_ Victor wanted to reassure him, but couldn’t bring himself to lie so boldly. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Yuuri laughed nervously. _“Oh, r-really? Why? You just saw me this morning.”_

_It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, apparently. I miss you._ But he couldn’t say those words, not like that. “I just did. How did it go with the printer?”

_“This thing is huge. We had to go buy a new table for it, because the one I wanted to use was too unsteady. Then, when we got back we realized our router wasn’t compatible with it somehow, and so we had to go back out to buy a new one and set up our whole internet again. But it’s working now. It will be a few days before I’ll have your next pattern ready, though.”_

“So it worked out alright, then?”

_“Yes, everything is fine.”_

“Good. I’m glad.”

_“…Is everything alright? Your voice sounds a little different.”_

Victor covered his phone with his hand and took a few deep breaths before speaking again. “It’s nothing. Probably just because you’re hearing me on the phone for the first time.”

_“Oh, yeah, probably.”_

“What did you eat tonight?” Victor really wanted to keep Yuuri talking for as long as possible. It was the only thing he seemed able to focus on, right now.

_“Phichit was here, so we made some yellow curry. There’s plenty leftover if you want to eat some with me tomorrow.”_

Victor really wanted to find an excuse to go over and eat it with him right then, but knew it would be absurd. He wasn’t even hungry—he just wanted to see Yuuri again. “I’d love to. I look forward to it.”

_“How was your day, then? Did you go to the rink?”_

“I went in for my scheduled session, but I left a little early. I was having trouble keeping focused.”

_“You’re not still hurting, are you?”_ There was genuine concern in Yuuri’s voice.

“No, no, I’m fine. I only skipped my morning run. My body is pretty used to bouncing back after something like that.” Victor inexplicably flushed at the subject, like it was something to find embarrassment in. He shook his head in an attempt to clear away that intrusive feeling, but found it didn’t work. He was nervous, somehow.

There was a brief pause before Yuuri spoke again. _“Is it something you shouldn’t do often?”_

“If we were closer to a major competition, probably, but since it’s still early there’s not much harm in… indulging.”

_“I see. That’s good.”_

_That’s good?_ Why was it good? What was Yuuri thinking about? Victor burned to ask, the words already on his lips, but he couldn’t say them. Why was talking to Yuuri like this so difficult?

_“Not to get ahead of myself, but there are… some things we need to talk about. Before next time. Maybe—maybe not over the phone, but I don’t want to get too far into it again without talking to you, first.”_

Victor was filled with cold dread. Was there something wrong with what they did? Did Yuuri not like it? Yuuri said not over the phone, but if Victor didn’t ask, he’d definitely be thinking about it all night. “What sort of things?”

_“O-oh, just—just like, how to tell if I’ve gone too far. Since I’m saying things you’re not supposed to like, it’s hard to know if you’re enjoying yourself or not. If there’s something you can say or do that will let me know it’s too much, I’d rest easier.”_

The tension in Victor’s chest eased so abruptly that he audibly exhaled. “You mean like a safe word?”

_“Yes, or like—a gesture. Something to tell me to slow down or ease off, or stop altogether. I was trying to be careful last night, but I’d feel better if we had something established beforehand. Just so I know.”_

A simple consideration like that shouldn’t have touched Victor so deeply, but he shuddered with how cared-for it made him feel. “Wait—you were trying to be _careful?_ Does that mean you were… holding back?”

_“A little. I mean, I tried to adjust when I saw you might not be enjoying it, or if something seemed to cut a little too deep. I obviously don’t have much experience with it, but I was trying to learn as I went.”_

“So what you’re saying is—you’re capable of _more_ than what happened last night.”

_“I—suppose? I don’t know for sure, but probably? Why? Is—is that something you want? Something harder?”_

Victor’s breath hitched, a tingle of arousal waking him a bit. “Maybe. I can’t say with absolute certainty, but the idea of it…” He groaned, just a little, into the receiver.

Yuuri giggled nervously. The sound was absolutely lovely in Victor’s ears. _“I thought I might’ve been too harsh on you.”_

“Not at all, you were beautiful,” Victor assured him. “I guess I just took it for granted that I pretty much know Chris’s whole act, so I didn’t consider the idea of someone going _too far._ But I’ll think of something I can do to let you know. Next time, I don’t want you to hold back.”

_“A-alright. I won’t. When—”_ He cut himself off, and Victor waited, but nothing else came.

“I’ll be over tomorrow evening,” Victor answered, guessing what the question might’ve been. “So unless Phichit’s curry is too strong, it can happen again tomorrow.”

There was a stretch where Victor heard shuffling, then the sound of a door close. _“Speaking of Phichit,”_ Yuuri said quietly, _“I don’t think I can kick him out tomorrow. He won’t bother us, and he’d leave if I asked, but I really don’t want to ask. He’s been down lately—something with his friends—and he won’t talk about it much. He might be happier knowing he has a place to stay that’s not with them.”_

“Would you prefer to come back here after we eat, then?” Victor looked around at the tiny studio apartment, cringing a little. “It’s not a big place, but it’s comfortable enough for two, I think. Unless you’d rather not leave him alone. I’d understand, if so.” He’d be a little disappointed, but even as intense as his selfish desires were, Victor couldn’t be that heartless.

_“He’d probably be grateful for the privacy, actually. I know it’s been a long time since he’s had the place to himself. I’ll bring it up tonight and see how he feels. Also, I’ll need a ride to and from your place, if it’s not too much trouble. Phichit and I share a car, and I don’t want to leave him without one.”_

“It would be my pleasure,” Victor said. _Anything to spend more time with you._

_“Okay. So we’ll eat leftovers here, then go to your place? Is that the plan?”_

“If that works for you.”

_“It does. I’m… looking forward to it.”_ Victor could almost picture the shy, cute expression Yuuri was making as he said that.

“Me too,” Victor said, trying not to sound as excited as he felt.

_“I should probably get back to work. There were a few things I wanted to finish up before bed.”_

Victor felt a pang of disappointment, but he didn’t want to keep Yuuri from his work. “Alright. Don’t work too hard.”

_“I’ll be off to bed soon enough, don’t worry. Sleep well, Victor.”_

“You too, Yuuri.” The call ended, and Victor let out a heavy sigh. He really was in too deep too quickly, to feel such a need to listen to Yuuri’s voice.

But the phone call had done its job. Victor’s mind felt decidedly calmer, his head no longer swirling with those unfocused memories. Now there was simply an undercurrent of excitement and anticipation at the idea of Yuuri possibly going in _harder,_ and Victor found he was able to focus on that as he prepared for bed.

It took a little while, but thinking of Yuuri’s voice helped him sleep.

* * *

 

“Welcome back,” Phichit greeted at the door. He was smiling, but his eyes looked tired. “Yuuri would have answered, but he’s in the bathroom. Come in, come in.”

“Thank you,” Victor said. “Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine,” Phichit said, waving his hand dismissively. He led Victor towards the stairs. “I’m guessing Yuuri said something, but it’s nothing to worry about. Just some mild drama with my friends. I won’t be in your way tonight, so you can ignore me. I’ll probably just be watching Netflix on my laptop with headphones.”

“Phichit,” Victor said, getting the man to stop and face him. “Please don’t think of yourself as an imposition. I’m the one coming in and disrupting your home. I probably wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you, so you don’t have to try and be invisible.”

Phichit’s smile returned, more genuine this time. “It’s not a problem, though I should say I’m doing this for Yuuri more than you. I’m really glad he’s finally found someone he’s into, and I feel like this is nothing compared to all the accommodations he’s made for me since I’ve known him.”

Victor smiled back. “I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating that you two really seem like you’ve been friends for much longer than a year.”

Phichit rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, to be fair, I’ve known _of_ him a bit longer than a year. He was an upperclassman I’d shared a few higher-level design classes with. We didn’t interact, though, since I was intimidated by the older students and Yuuri was, well, Yuuri. He always did his own thing. But my classmates and I knew of him. The department always spoke of him like he was some sort of prodigy, someone who could make a complex costume, from design to finish, in a matter of days. That was my image of him until I actually got to know him.”

Victor found himself hanging on every word, wanting to learn as much about Yuuri as he could. “You’re saying he’s not a prodigy, then?”

“Don’t get me wrong—he’s really good at what he does. His patterning skills are amazing. But he’s not a genius—he’s good because he works hard. Too hard, a lot of the time, as I’m sure you’ve picked up on. He’s not very good at taking care of himself. Part of the reason he hired me is because he worked so hard he collapsed.”

Victor gaped. “He _what?_ ”

Phichit nodded solemnly. “Lack of food and sleep, had to be admitted to the hospital for a few days. He was pulling almost eighty hours a week, from what he admitted to me, which of course is completely insane.”

“I had no idea,” Victor said, suddenly feeling guilty about his impatience to see his costumes finished, even though he’d never expressed it to Yuuri. “And how did he come to hire you, if I may ask?”

Phichit looked aside, rubbing his arm. “He put out an ad online, then told our department head he was looking for someone. I was about to graduate without a job, so I just sent him my portfolio without really thinking about it. Yuuri hired me less than an hour after I sent it.” He let out a little laugh. “I thought it was a scam, at first.” He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but was interrupted.

“Phichit?” Yuuri stuck his head out of the doorway to the apartment upstairs. His eyes settled on Victor. “Oh! I didn’t realize you were here already.”

“It’s already after seven, Yuuri,” Phichit reminded him, smiling knowingly at Victor. “I know you hate the ticking sound, but we should really put more clocks up in the apartment.”

Yuuri made a pouting face at Phichit that was so adorable Victor thought he might burst. Phichit walked past Yuuri into the apartment, but Yuuri lingered by the doorway, waiting for Victor. “Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hello again,” Victor said in a low voice, brushing his knuckles against Yuuri’s cheek. “You look well.”

Yuuri flushed. “S-so do you. I—I should—”

“Show Victor your progress,” Phichit said cheerfully, nudging them both out the door. “I’ll make rice and heat up the curry.” To make his point, Phichit closed the door to the apartment.

Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t really have much to show right now, but I guess I could let you see the model I was working on.”

Victor followed Yuuri down the stairs to the table he had set up with his laptop. Yuuri seemed to casually-but-intentionally block the view of the computer’s lock screen, but the small glimpse Victor caught gave him the impression it might’ve been one of his promotional skating photos. He suppressed a smile.

“So I’m working with this program that helps create patterns,” Yuuri said, pulling a chair over so Victor could sit beside him. “I’m more used to hand-drawing everything, but I learned to use this in a class in college, and I pull it out from time to time for more complex pieces. I usually don’t like it because printing out such big pieces is expensive, and even one mistake can be really costly. But since we have our own printer now, it’s a little more convenient. Still not free, but way cheaper.”

Victor touched Yuuri’s shoulder, simply because it was there. “I’m glad my payment to you was of help.”

Yuuri’s cheeks reddened. “Well, it’s of more help than just printing out complex patterns. With this I can store files of common patterns, like stretch bodices, and adjust them to a person’s measurements without redrawing the whole thing every time. It’s really convenient. Phichit’s excited he’ll be able to use my patterns without asking me to draw them every time. We also bought this special paper that can be ironed on to the fabric so that we…”

Victor listened closely to Yuuri’s rambling for a long time, relishing in the sound of his excited voice. Though Victor didn’t completely understand everything Yuuri said, it didn’t really seem to matter, as Yuuri was clearly just happy to have someone to share this with. Victor got the impression Yuuri wasn’t used to sharing himself with other people, and the fact that he was doing so now made Victor feel inordinately blessed.

The 3D model Yuuri showed him wasn’t colored, and was so simplified Victor couldn’t see any resemblance between it and the drawing of the design. But Yuuri seemed proud of himself, so Victor was, too. There was no reason to diminish Yuuri’s work, simply because he didn’t understand it.

“A-ah, I’ve been rambling too much,” Yuuri said, looking down sheepishly. “I’m just… excited. I want it to be perfect.”

Victor smiled. “I already know it will be more perfect than any costume I could have had from anyone else. Don’t worry about holding back; I’m excited, too.”

Yuuri flushed deeper, and turned away. Victor melted at Yuuri’s shyness, wondering how someone who could dismantle him so expertly could also be so adorably shy at the barest compliment.

Victor was just about to voice his thoughts when a singsong voice echoed down the stairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

“Do I need to be worried about this curry?” Victor asked quietly.

“It’s not very strong,” Yuuri assured him. “It’s got a little spice to it, but it’s more savory than anything. Unless you have a weak stomach, I doubt it will do much—it hasn’t bothered me, and I’ve had it at least once a month since we’ve lived together.”

Victor took Yuuri’s word for it, though he ate slowly and drank plenty of water with it. It was hardy spicy at all, though, and it was actually some of the best curry he’d ever had.

“Phichit goes out of his way to make it authentic,” Yuuri said when Victor expressed as much.

“I get my spices from home,” Phichit said. “What you can find here just isn’t the same. My family would turn their noses at this, though, since there’s hardly any heat to it. I can handle more, but I do it this way for Yuuri.”

“You don’t like spicy food?” Victor asked Yuuri.

“Not spicy like he would want it,” Yuuri said. “I like a little spice, but I don’t like the idea of being in pain while I eat. I like to taste my food.”

“What about you, Victor?”

Victor thought for a moment how best to phrase his tastes. “I don’t have a terribly high tolerance for spice, but I make it a point to try new food when I travel, which can sometimes be spicy. It varies based on the flavor how much I’ll actually enjoy it.”

“You try new food, even when you travel for competitions?” Phichit asked.

“Usually _after_ I’ve competed,” Victor said. “Just in case.”

Though Phichit had claimed he would watch Netflix by himself all evening, he lingered at the table for a while after dinner, joining in the playful conversations with Victor and Yuuri. Victor didn’t mind in the slightest, because Phichit had a way of putting Yuuri more at ease, coaxing him into telling stories of his college years, and even a few anecdotes from his home in Japan. Though a part of him was eager to find out what the rest of the night would have in store, Victor still wanted to learn everything he could about Yuuri, and couldn’t bring himself to suggest they leave.

In the end, it was Yuuri who called an end to their chatting. “It’s getting a little late,” he said. “Do you want me to clean up, Phichit?”

“I’d rather you owe me a favor,” Phichit said with a decidedly sly smile. “Don’t worry—you two go on. It’s been a while since I’ve had some me time.”

Yuuri didn’t argue, instead getting up and retrieving a duffel bag he’d left on the other side of the apartment.

“Have fun!” Phichit sang as they left.

They were well on their way before either of them said anything. “So, where are you staying?” Yuuri asked.

“I’m pretty close to the rink,” Victor said.

“So not downtown, then? Can’t say I blame you.”

“I didn’t really think about it much,” Victor admitted. “I chose a place that wouldn’t be too expensive for a long stay, and wouldn’t take too long to get there by car. The only inconvenience is that it’s about half an hour from your workshop, but it’s a small price to pay.”

“Huh.”

Victor glanced at him. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d go with something so practical. I figured by now you’d choose luxury over price.”

Victor laughed. “I know I’m better off than most of my peers, but honestly Yuuri, I’m not _that_ wealthy. I have to think of my future after competitions, and if I spend money on lavish, temporary comforts, my savings won’t last long.”

“I get all that,” Yuuri said. “I think it’s just… the image you’ve presented. Your expensive clothes, your haircut, the fancy restaurants you’ve been photographed in… It’s hard not to believe you have expensive tastes.”

“One thing you should understand, Yuuri, is that most of those photos aren’t candid,” Victor said patiently. “I don’t just happen to be at $300 a plate restaurants—sponsors take me there, and pay someone to photograph us. It’s more about them than me, really, since they like to pretend they’re close to me. It makes them look powerful. My clothes—I admit I like to be well-dressed on occasion, but most of the really expensive suits were gifts, usually from the companies themselves who wanted me to be seen in them. My haircut is maintained by a stylist the Russian skating team is close with, and she’s a talented sweetheart I’ve known half my life. I realize I sound like I’m trying to diminish how privileged I am, which isn’t the case. I know I’m lucky and have it better than most people. But I’m not the person the media presents me as. I try to be as honest as I can in interviews, but even they don’t tell the whole story.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“The whole story.”

Victor sighed, a helpless smile growing on his lips. “I’m trying to, right now. It will take time. I want you to know I’m not the person you admired, then hated, for all those years. Parts of me are most definitely the same, but I don’t share everything about myself with the world.”

“Well, I know that much,” Yuuri said. “I didn’t know about the insult thing, after all.”

“I’m amazed at how well that secret has been kept, considering the people I’ve told over the years,” Victor said. “But I suppose I’ve been lucky enough to never go through a messy breakup. All the people who knew left my life on respectful terms, and never tried to sell my information.”

“Did you… tell everyone you’ve ever been with?”

“Everyone I’ve ever been with since I discovered what I needed,” Victor explained. “I knew it would be an important part of any relationship I had. It wasn’t something I dropped on the first date, but generally—yes, I believe I told everyone.”

“Is that…a lot of people?”

Victor sighed again. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘a lot.’ Is maybe a dozen over 8 years a lot?”

“Not—not really,” Yuuri said. “I just thought that maybe you had a lot of lovers over the years. You always seemed to flirt with everyone.”

“And that image has gotten me at least half my sponsorships,” Victor said. “You’ll notice I don’t really play to the crowds that way anymore. Or maybe you won’t, since you haven’t watched in a few years,” he amended. “I used to have to act that way to keep the sponsors happy, but I gave that up a while ago because it felt like I wasn’t being respected. At any rate, I’m not some playboy who goes through lovers like candy. When I connect with someone, it’s with the hope of it turning out to be something special. I don’t deal with real affections lightly.”

Yuuri went quiet after that, and Victor got off the highway to navigate to his apartment. It wasn’t as though he was annoyed, exactly, but he was eager to make Yuuri understand who he actually was.

“We’re here,” Victor announced, pulling into the underground parking garage. It was a relief to not be driving, but without the distraction, Victor became more aware of the tension between them. Yuuri wasn’t relaxed, and Victor realized he wasn’t, either.

The tension only got worse on the elevator ride up to the apartment. Where had he gone wrong? What had he said? Maybe it was the sort of conversation that wasn’t really suitable to a car ride.

Victor unlocked his apartment and beckoned Yuuri inside. “Would you like anything to drink? I don’t have much, but we could open a bottle of wine.” He’d bought the wine for this specific occasion, in fact, but he didn’t know how eager Yuuri would be to drink it.

“Wine is good,” Yuuri said, his eyes traveling around the studio apartment. “And a glass of water, if you can.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Victor said, glad to have something to do. Yuuri seemed reserved, and still a little tense as he looked around. “You can put your bag down over by the bed,” Victor offered.

Yuuri mechanically did as he was told, then came back to the kitchen, looking a little lost. Victor slid a glass of wine in front of him.

“Something wrong?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Not really. Just feeling a bit like a jackass with all the assumptions I made about you.”

“Don’t,” Victor said, touching Yuuri’s arm. “I know how I look to the world. If I correct you, it’s only because I want you to know the truth. I _want_ you to know who I am, and I won’t be able to give you the whole picture if I don’t know where you’re starting from. So tell me what you think of me, and I’ll tell you if it’s true.”

Victor could almost see the thoughts racing behind Yuuri’s rust-colored eyes.

“Is it really true that you donated your entire season’s winnings to animal shelters, the year your dog died?”

Victor blinked in surprise, not expecting this question. “It’s true. That wasn’t a publicity stunt, either—I wanted to keep it quiet, but one of the shelters accidentally leaked it to the press. After that I tried to use my story to get other people to donate, but, well… I sort of came off looking like I was trying to make myself look good. Which wasn’t true in the slightest—I was an emotional wreck, and I had all these feelings that had to go somewhere, so I threw money at shelters in an attempt to feel better.” The memories still stung, but not as much as they used to.

Yuuri’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I saw a lot of people who assumed the worst of you, but even at my most cynical, I didn’t think it was true. I knew how much you loved your dog. You would have never used her death to make yourself look good.”

Victor gave a pained smile. “There’s no way you could possibly know how much I loved her. But no one really did. Some days it felt like she was the only one I could rely to support me, and in the end I realized I never spent as much time with her as she deserved. Losing her hurt me more than anything else I’ve ever endured. I don’t know how I managed to win anything that year.”

Yuuri reached up and touched Victor’s face. “I’m sorry for mentioning it.”

Victor shook his head. “Don’t be. I said I wanted you to know the truth, and there’s no truth more raw than this. A couple of times I considered quitting that year, because absolutely no one understood how I was feeling, and I was sick of it.”

“I had a dog when I was younger, too,” Yuuri said. “I loved him to death, but I couldn’t take him to college with me, and he died before I could see him again. I know it couldn’t possibly be the same pain you felt, but I… I think I understand. At least where you’re coming from, if not the full extent of it.”

Victor took a sip of wine, and gestured for Yuuri to sit in one of the bar stools. “Tell me about him.”

Inexplicably, Yuuri flushed a deep red as he sat. “I—he was a brown poodle, like yours, except he was smaller. A miniature size.”

“What was his name?”

Yuuri turned aside and muttered something so quietly Victor couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, his flush going all the way down his neck. “His—his name was Victor. My family gave him the nickname ‘Vicchan’. I named him after… after you.”

A laugh croaked its way out of Victor’s throat so suddenly he couldn’t stifle it in time. He knew it wasn’t an appropriate reaction for the mood, but he couldn’t help it—it was so surprising and absurd and yet completely in line with everything Victor knew about Yuuri. It was quite possibly the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

Yuuri drained his glass of wine and stood. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Victor said hastily, laughing as he got up and caught Yuuri by the shoulders before he could leave. “Don’t go. I’m sorry for laughing. I think it’s adorable. You were young at the time, weren’t you?”

“Thirteen,” Yuuri muttered.

Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri, holding him from behind. “I’m honored to have meant so much to you back then. Don’t be embarrassed by it.”

Victor could feel some of Yuuri’s tension relaxing away. “You don’t hate it that I was your obsessed fan?”

“Were you worried about that? If you were never my fan, we wouldn’t be together now.”

“But I was so embarrassing,” Yuuri said weakly.

“We all did funny things when we were teenagers,” Victor said. “That’s no reason to diminish who you became as a result of those funny things. Maybe if we had met back then, I would have felt a little odd knowing I had such an obsessive fan. I wasn’t the most appreciative, back then. But knowing you now, I very much like the man you turned into, and I’m grateful you were my fan.” He squeezed Yuuri gently, as if to make his point.

Yuuri sighed. “Naming my dog after you wasn’t even the worst thing I did.”

Victor released him. “What? Did you keep pictures of me beside your bed, or something?”

Yuuri turned to face him, though he wouldn’t meet Victor’s eyes. “O-oh, definitely, but that… that wasn’t what I was referring to.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully. “Did you… Write my name beside yours in your notebook? That was popular when I was a teenager.”

“I did that too, but again, not what I was talking about.”

“Did you… masturbate to me?”

Yuuri pressed his lips together and nodded. “But that’s not it, either.”

Victor laughed with disbelief. “More embarrassing than that? Alright, now I’m a little concerned.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Yuuri said. He seemed almost angry at himself now, which to Victor was worse than embarrassment.

“Don’t be ashamed of who you were, Yuuri,” Victor pleaded, grabbing Yuuri’s hand. “I promise, no matter what it is, I won’t think any less of you.”

Yuuri pulled his hand away. “You can’t be so sure of that.”

“Tell me,” Victor urged. “The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can let go of it. You’re clearly afraid I’ll think badly of you for being an obsessive fan when you were younger. I need to prove to you that I won’t.”

Yuuri scrunched his face up, then sighed. “Alright. This may be the end of everything, but at least you’ll know the truth. Keep in mind no one knows this. No one back home, or even Phichit.”

Victor sat back down, watching Yuuri with anticipation.

“Every year on Christmas Eve, from the time I was thirteen to my first year at college, I would sneak into the kitchen at night and bake a cake. A Christmas cake, to be exact, which is white sponge cake with strawberries on it. Only instead of just strawberries, I would cover it with sugar roses, and write your name on top. First in Japanese, then Roman characters, and the final year I did it I learned how to write your name in Cyrillic. I would take it back to my room, and when midnight hit, I would light the candles and wish you a happy birthday, over and over. Then I’d watch the candles burn as I dreamed of meeting you someday. It was almost like a ritual, like I was making an offer to some deity. I knew it was obsessive at the time, which is why I never told anyone about it.”

It was a lot to process, and Victor didn’t quite know how to respond. “What motivated you to bake a cake, rather than send a card or letter?”

“I… didn’t think I was worthy to send a letter,” Yuuri said, his hands wringing together with nerves, eyes darting from place to place unable to settle on Victor. “I was just another fan, and I’d put you on such a high pedestal that I didn’t think you’d have any reason to care about me at all. At least if I made a cake, I could pretend for a while that I was important enough to give it to you. I… know it doesn’t make any sense, and I knew it didn’t even at the time. I just wanted to do _something._ ” Suddenly, he looked close to tears. Victor immediately got up from his stool to embrace him.

“Yuuri, Yuuri,” Victor soothed. “It’s alright, I promise you. I think it’s sweet.”

“How could you possibly think that?” Yuuri mumbled against Victor’s shoulder. “I’m so weird.”

“You’re weird in a way I like,” Victor said with a squeeze. “Is that it, then? Is that your most embarrassing thing?”

“I think so,” Yuuri said, pulling away. “If there’s anything more, I’ve repressed it so hard I don’t remember it anymore. So, should I grab my bag and leave?”

“Only if you want to,” Victor said. “ _I’m_ certainly not going to ask you to. I’m amazed you thought _that_ would make me want to give you up. That’s hardly as terrible a secret as the one I told you.”

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head. “I didn’t think you’d want to date your obsessive fan. Even after hating you, I can’t really erase that part of myself.”

“If it’s that obsessive fan that’s making me those amazing costumes, then perhaps I _do_ want to date him,” Victor said with a reassuring smile. “Trust me, Yuuri—nothing that I’ve learned about you has made me like you any less. If anything, I like you more.”

Yuuri frowned. “Okay, now I _know_ you’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Victor insisted. He grabbed Yuuri’s wine glass, and moved to refill it. “You’re being so honest with me, and worrying so much about what I think. All that says to me is that you’re taking this seriously, which is… refreshing, to say the least. I can’t tell you how many times people treat this sort of thing as a game to win.”

“How could I possibly treat it like a game? You’re… you. I could never disrespect you like that.” Yuuri flushed. “Well, not without your permission, anyway.”

“I know too many people who prefer to respect the _idea_ of me rather than who I actually am,” Victor said. He topped off his own glass of wine, and handed Yuuri’s back to him. “And I think you know that. You touched on it last time we…” Victor gestured to the bed.

“It was a lot of guesswork,” Yuuri said sheepishly.

Victor smiled suggestively, taking a sip of his wine. “If that’s how accurate your guesses are, I shudder to think how hard you’ll go in when we’ve _really_ gotten to know each other.”

“Do you know why it turns you on?” Yuuri asked. “You mentioned before about stripping down your ego, but I’m not sure I completely understand.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Victor said. “I don’t know exactly. Chris has told me it’s a power thing, that I have some primal desire to be dominated, but it doesn’t feel as extreme as that. Personally, I think I was just tired of being praised. Insults feel more like the truth.”

“It’s easier to internalize insults than compliments,” Yuuri said. “Though I wonder why for you, they make you feel good rather than hurt.”

“They still hurt somewhat,” Victor said. “But the way my mind processes that hurt is different than most people, I imagine. It’s probably similar to those who get off to pain, except for me, it’s only in my head. And if I’m honest, insults outside of the context of sex are still unpleasant. It’s not as though I _like_ them.”

Yuuri took a drink of his wine, and stepped closer to Victor. The air around them seemed to change, growing more intense. “Did you come up with a way to tell me to slow down?”

Victor nodded, and put his glass down. He held up his index finger. “One finger here,” he touched his chest, “or here,” he touched Yuuri’s face, “means slow down. Two fingers means wait, or stop for a moment.” He caressed Yuuri’s face. “Two fingers and a no means stop completely. Is that good enough?”

Yuuri closed his eyes to Victor’s touch. “Yes.”

“We can amend it later if we get more creative, but I imagine this will be enough for tonight.” Presented with the easy opportunity, Victor couldn’t help but steal a kiss from Yuuri. They both relaxed into it as easily as if it were breathing, Yuuri sliding his tongue alongside Victor’s, tasting of wine and something Victor recognized as distinctly Yuuri.

Just as Victor’s body was warming up to the moment, Yuuri gently pushed away. “I’m going to use your bathroom,” he said in a low voice. “When I come out, I want you stripped down, completely naked on the bed. Alright?”

“No clothes?”

“No clothes.” Yuuri’s voice was heavy with his breath, nearly a whisper. “I don’t have the patience tonight.”

Victor swallowed involuntarily, and nodded. Yuuri grabbed his bag and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Victor breathlessly alone.


	13. Chapter 13

Victor shivered with anticipation, nerves, and—without any clothes—the cold. He’d wasted no time getting naked, thinking Yuuri would only take a minute, but a handful of minutes had passed and Yuuri hadn’t yet emerged. Victor had tried to think of the best way to arrange himself on the bed—would Yuuri want him vulnerable? Defiant? Shy? But he hadn’t been able to decide on anything, so he simply laid on his back, staring at the ceiling as he wondered what Yuuri could be doing to take so much time.

Had the curry gotten to him? Victor hoped not. It seemed unlikely, at any rate.

Was Yuuri getting cold feet? It seemed more likely, but Victor didn’t think that was it, either.

Though it had only been two days since the last time, Victor felt intensely eager for this to happen again. Last time, while amazing, left him feeling rather selfish with how little he paid attention to Yuuri’s pleasure. This time he was determined to make it last, ready to slow things down if it felt like he might finish too quickly. Not being completely blindsided by Yuuri’s abilities would likely help, too.

Victor continued to wait, increasingly tempted to pull a corner of the blanket up to wrap around himself. Just as he finally gave in to reach for it, the door to the bathroom creaked open, and Yuuri emerged in nothing but a tight pair of grey boxer briefs. There wasn’t anything particularly sexy about them, but they _did_ show off Yuuri’s shapely backside, which Victor had failed to properly notice last time.

Not much had changed—Yuuri had left his glasses behind and pushed his hair back from his face—but the way he carried himself had a distinctly different feel. He didn’t say anything as he walked around to the bed, his back straight and confident, his expression indifferent save for an eager spark in his eyes.

He gave Victor a long, lingering look, eyes traveling all along Victor’s body, leaving no detail unexamined. While Victor was far from shy, the scrutiny made him feel exposed and vulnerable, like a meal about to be devoured. The fact that Yuuri hadn’t yet said anything made the moment all the more tense, setting Victor’s teeth on edge.

Yuuri climbed onto the bed and planted his knees on either side of Victor’s hips, then fell forward onto his hands, encaging Victor with his body. A subtle lick of his lips was the only warning Victor had before Yuuri plunged forward, his tongue pressing so far down Victor’s throat that Victor thought he might choke on it. It was a hard kiss, almost punishing, but it was brief, a move to set the tone.

Yuuri lifted up, and looked down on Victor with a displeased groan. “Ah, so disappointing.”

He didn’t even need to specify the details. Just the tone of voice was enough to stir Victor’s insides with that strange and pleasant sensation.

“When I was younger, I convinced myself that the great Victor Nikiforov would be a good kisser. He _had_ to be.” Yuuri sighed. “Little did I know…”

Victor forgot for a moment that this was an act. “I wasn’t ready. Let me try again to—”

Yuuri shushed him with a finger to his lips. “You don’t get to ask for another chance. How many of your fans squandered their first impressions? Did you give _them_ another chance, or did you write them off as soon as they made a mistake?” Yuuri shook his head ruefully. “No more kisses.”

This was cruel, Victor’s mind said. His dick countered with a meaningful pulse against his stomach.

“What shall we do with you, then?” Yuuri asked no one. He reached forward and ran his fingers through Victor’s hair. “Hm… Thinner than I thought.”

Victor’s whole body shuddered at Yuuri so easily finding one of his weak spots.

“Is that why you cut it?” The question seemed possibly genuine, though Yuuri’s face remained dispassionate.

“It was difficult to maintain,” Victor said. “I got bored of it.”

Yuuri ran a slow finger down the side of Victor’s neck, trailing it down across his shoulder and chest. “Bored, huh? Do you know how many of your fans you disappointed by cutting it? People cried at the loss of your hair, Victor. The world lost something decidedly beautiful that day, something unique, and all because you were _bored.”_ He punctuated that last word with a pinch of Victor’s nipple, just hard and sudden enough to make Victor cry out. Yuuri continued to knead it with his fingers, though more gently, still enough to send pulses of pleasure through Victor’s body. “You’re so selfish.”

That particular word always felt like the truth, no matter the context in which it was said. Selfish. Victor knew he was selfish. Even right now he felt selfish, claiming Yuuri for himself, asking Yuuri to do these things for him, taking Yuuri’s work without giving anything in return. The fact that someone else knew he was selfish, enough to call him out on it, was always strangely freeing.

Yuuri gave a small, knowing smile that clearly broke his character, and fell down to make love to Victor’s chest.

_I love this man,_ Victor thought wildly, those words echoing through his mind ceaselessly as he groaned and writhed under Yuuri’s teasing pleasure.

It was too much. Victor needed to do _something_ to show his appreciation, beyond just making sounds. He grasped Yuuri by the middle, lifted him slightly, and flipped them both over in a move he was glad didn’t injure anyone.

Yuuri looked up at him with wide eyes. “Victor? I thought—”

Victor stole a kiss, cutting off his words. “Just a moment,” he said breathlessly. “Just—let me do this, for a moment.” He kissed rapidly along Yuuri’s neck, wanting to taste as much skin as he could.

“You know I don’t mind you being more active,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “I didn’t expect you to be entirely submissive to me.”

“Sometimes I want to be,” Victor said. “But right now I need to just…” He licked one of Yuuri’s nipples.

Yuuri released a shuddering breath. “Even when you’re being generous, you can’t help taking what you want. So selfish.” The coldness had all but drained away from his voice, leaving it warmer and more teasing than insulting. The effect was, oddly, almost the same.

Yuuri’s hand went back to Victor’s hair, fingers tangling and tugging as Victor continued making love to Yuuri’s deliciously sensitive chest. Was he this sensitive all over his body?

Victor decided to find out. He kissed his way down, skirting over the dick for now, instead spreading Yuuri’s thighs and running his tongue and teeth along the insides. Yuuri yelped and trembled.

“Not only are you selfish, you’re a tease,” Yuuri breathed out. “No regard for your lover’s desires. So disappointing.”

Victor bit lightly in response, and Yuuri cried out in a lovely voice. “So sensitive,” he mumbled against Yuuri’s skin.

“You’re one to talk about being sensitive,” Yuuri spat. “The one who openly cried the first time he didn’t make the podium.”

Alright, that one cut a little deep. There were so many factors going into Victor’s response that night, and because Yuuri knew next to none of them, the insult didn’t feel right. Victor decided to warn him by tracing a single finger along Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri gave an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes showing understanding, and Victor went back to work. Yuuri’s thighs were remarkably soft and bitable, tempting Victor to stay there for longer than he probably should. It didn’t help that Yuuri made such delectable sounds every time Victor so much as scraped his teeth against skin.

“You’re a bastard,” Yuuri breathed. “Just suck me off already.”

“I’m too selfish for that,” Victor said, smiling to himself. Yuuri’s dick twitched and leaked as Victor continued his torturous nibbling, working his way upwards into Yuuri’s creases. He spread Yuuri’s thighs wider and wormed his tongue below Yuuri’s taut balls, relishing in the pulse of muscle he felt there. This was far more intimate than he’d normally ever get on his second time with someone, but somehow rules didn’t matter when it came to Yuuri.

Victor worked his way even deeper, spreading Yuuri open until he could reach that soft, velvety hole with his tongue.

Yuuri panted audibly, his fingers digging into the sheets. “I thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“I still do,” Victor said, giving Yuuri’s hole a hearty lick. “But I want this, too. Is it okay?”

“What does it matter? You’ll just take what you want anyway, selfish bastard.”

Victor paused and lifted up, needing to make sure this was part of the act. “I would stop if you told me no. Are you saying no?”

Yuuri glared. “No.”

Victor smirked. “Alright, I’ll stop.”

Yuuri threw his head back with a groan. “Just—do what you want.”

“You like this,” Victor teased, going back down. “You like me being selfish.”

“I’d like you much better with your mouth around my cock. A-ah!”

Victor began nibbling on the pucker of skin, loving the way it flexed beneath his lips. It had been years since Victor had volunteered to do this for anyone, much less enjoyed it this much. He was beginning to wonder why he never offered it more often.

When it came to Yuuri, things just weren’t the same.

After growing physically tired of that particular teasing, Victor turned his attention to Yuuri’s cock, but the moment his tongue touched the shaft, Yuuri tugged on a fistful of Victor’s hair.

“Don’t,” Yuuri said urgently. “I’m too close.”

Victor considered disobeying, because he _did_ selfishly want to fill his mouth with that beautiful dick again, but weighed against the whole thing being over too early, he found it wasn’t worth it. Instead he helped himself to the small thread of precum trailing on Yuuri’s stomach, and withdrew completely, waiting for instructions.

Yuuri wiped at his forehead, flushed and clearly pleased, if just a little tense. “Well, I concede your selfishness has _some_ merits. But you still think that, because of who you are, you can help yourself to my body. _Of course_ I would want Victor Nikiforov between my legs, eating my ass. He’s a celebrity!” Yuuri closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, a sinister smile on his lips. “Tsk. So entitled.”

Victor’s blood hummed pleasantly with Yuuri’s tone. It was smooth and cold, like glass—pleasant to touch, but pregnant with the feeling that the wrong move could cut him.

Yuuri pushed off of the pillows and went to Victor, then practically threw him down onto his back. Victor went willingly, loving the way Yuuri handled him. Yuuri loomed over Victor and leaned in close, a hand softly caressing Victor’s cheek. “You’re entitled to nothing,” he said in a voice so quiet it was almost fragile, as if a slight breeze could shatter it. “You’ve earned nothing. You deserve nothing. You’re worthless.”

Victor closed his eyes, savoring the duality of pain and pleasure, his fingers curling into the sheets. His legs spread nearly of their own accord, his body all but begging to be taken.

A featherlight kiss brushed his cheek. “Remember, Victor. Everything you’re given is only because I give it. Everything you take is because I allow it. You have no power here, because I know who you really are.” Yuuri’s fingers brushed Victor’s dick, grasping lightly.

“Please, Yuuri,” Victor gasped.

Yuuri gave a low chuckle. “Good to see you remember your manners. I’ll be generous this time.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything as he prepared Victor, his eyes doing the work of his words with their penetrating gaze. Victor again felt scrutinized and exposed, yet he couldn’t hold back his pleasure as Yuuri worked him open and rubbed teasingly against his insides.

“P-please,” Victor panted, needing more. Yuuri withdrew his hand, and Victor began to turn around. Yuuri put a quick hand on his thigh.

“On your back, this time,” Yuuri said. He phrased it like a command, but there was a hint of uncertainty and pleading in his tone.

Victor stayed put, shifting his hips to be a little more comfortable. It was clearly something Yuuri wanted, and Victor had no reason to object. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been fucked on his back, but Chris particularly preferred Victor on his hands and knees, and this way felt far more intimate. His stomach churned with nervous anticipation as he watched Yuuri prepare himself with a condom and more lube, and he held his breath when Yuuri positioned himself between Victor’s open legs.

Yuuri hesitated, watching Victor closely. Victor could only nod to urge him on, but Yuuri didn’t immediately push in, instead reaching forward and touching Victor’s hand lightly. It was an unspoken question that Victor somehow understood. He smiled. “I’m okay.”

Yuuri pushed in slowly, Victor’s body resisting at first, but eventually accommodating Yuuri as easily as if he belonged there. Victor released a sigh of relief as he relaxed into it.

Yuuri seemed to be out of words, his face pinched in concentration as he increased his pace. Which felt right, Victor thought. They didn’t need words for this part. This was different, somehow, than their play. This felt more like a dance, a moment to bathe in the pleasure of their bodies. There was no ego, no power, only themselves. And Victor was sure he’d never felt anything more exquisite in his life.

Yuuri’s breathing escalated, and he fell forward onto his hands, sweat dripping off of his forehead onto Victor’s chest. Victor was so lost to the intense pleasure he almost couldn’t pay attention to the way Yuuri’s face contorted in orgasm, a sight he wanted to etch into his mind so he’d never forget. In desperation to chase Yuuri, Victor grabbed his own dick and pushed himself over the edge, coming with a loud, involuntary cry.

When Victor regained awareness, Yuuri withdrew, a glowing smile on his face. “You didn’t let me finish you.”

“I was too impatient,” Victor said breathlessly.

Yuuri dipped his finger in the cooling pool of cum on Victor’s stomach, smearing it a little. “Clearly. I’m—sorry if it wasn’t as great for you at the end there. I couldn’t come up with anything to say.”

“You didn’t need to,” Victor said, touching Yuuri’s arm affectionately. “That was beautiful the whole way through. You don’t need to worry about performing for me the entire time.”

“I’m still learning what’s good for you,” Yuuri said. “And, really, what’s good for myself.”

A lump of dread fell into Victor’s stomach. “Was it not good for you?”

“No, no, it was great,” Yuuri reassured him. “But… when it comes to you, there are two sides of myself that want to show themselves. One is the me that was hurt by you, who enjoys insulting you, but the other…” He trailed off, looking aside.

“The fanboy?”

Yuuri scrunched up his face and nodded. “He wants to praise you. To say how beautiful you are, how incredible. And I have to constantly silence him when I’m with you like this, because sometimes I can’t even look at you without wanting to—to say something.”

Victor laughed warmly. “You know, I like praise, too. I never hated being admired.”

Yuuri blinked. “But I thought…”

Victor put his arms behind his head to get a better viewing angle. “I’m more versatile than I probably came across, and that’s on me. I’m sorry for giving the wrong impression. While it’s true I _need_ someone to talk down to me on occasion, it’s not something I need all the time. I don’t even need it to get off. I only encouraged it this time because you seemed determined to go in _harder,_ which I’m still curious about, but it’s not absolutely necessary.”

“R-really? So, in theory, I could do nothing but compliment you the whole time, and you’d still enjoy yourself?”

“I can’t say for sure, but probably,” Victor said. “You might have to do a _bit_ more than compliment me, but I have no doubt you’re capable. Is that something you want?”

“Maybe,” Yuuri admitted shyly. “Like I said… still trying to figure things out.”

“Well, I’m eager to figure things out with you,” Victor said with a smile.

Yuuri smiled back, filling Victor with warmth.

They ended up showering together, laughing as they tried to navigate the tiny space without knocking everything over. Victor had never shared a shower with one of his lovers before, but for tonight, he couldn’t fathom the idea of being even a moment without Yuuri in reach. It wasn’t the most thorough shower, but it got the job done, and before long they were toweling each other off.

“I take it you brought extra clothes and everything?” Victor asked, sliding on a robe and nodding to Yuuri’s bag sitting open on the bed.

“Yes, though I might’ve overprepared a little,” Yuuri said sheepishly. He pulled out a tshirt and some boxers, tugging them on quickly.

Victor peered inside, not able to see much, except… “You brought your sketchbook?”

Yuuri picked it up, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “I’m never sure when inspiration will strike me, and sometimes I get filled with this nervous energy that makes it hard to function until I can draw things out. It doesn’t happen a lot, but I… wanted to be prepared, just in case.”

Victor smiled knowingly. “The perils of an artist. May I take a look?”

It was an extended pause before Yuuri slowly handed it over. He sat beside Victor on the bed. “It would normally be far too embarrassing to show you, but I think I’ve run out of embarrassment tonight. I’ve had this particular sketchbook since college, so it has some really old stuff in there. I don’t often use it for work.”

Victor carefully opened it, eyes reverently traveling across Yuuri’s bold, passionate lines. He was a few pages in before he found something to say. “I recognize this one, I think.”

“You might, since that was one of your costumes. It had an unusual cut, so I tried to draw it to understand it better.”

“So this was before…”

Yuuri nodded. “I still liked you back then. You actually show up a lot in this sketchbook. I didn’t really… draw much for pleasure, after… that happened.”

Victor turned the page, finding more sketches of the same costume. “Did I… kill your inspiration?” He knew he wouldn’t like the answer, but he needed to know.

“More or less,” Yuuri said, clearly reluctant to admit it. Victor admired his honesty. “I… considered giving up altogether, a few times. I felt broken. But I didn’t have anything else to do. I’d spent so many years on the same path that I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. I was still able to work, but over time I’d sort of forgotten why I’d started in the first place. It wasn’t a passion like it once was. It was just… work.”

Victor suppressed the urge to apologize again, knowing it would do nothing to fix it. “I hope that, someday, I can help return your passion to you.”

Yuuri smiled shyly. “Don’t worry about that—you already have.” He gently took the sketchbook from Victor’s hands, and flipped further into it, stopping on a particular page. “This is what I’ve done since your apology.”

Page after page was filled with sketches, some that shared similarities with the costumes Yuuri was currently making for Victor, some that definitely did not. Every single one of the designs was beautiful in its own way, but Yuuri had put little arrows and notes on some of them, saying things like _this seam is too distracting,_ or _this line shortens him—try making it longer._

“Ah, it’s so embarrassing,” Yuuri said, covering his face. “I really thought you would go with Phichit’s designs, but I couldn’t help but work on my own.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Victor said. “I can’t quite explain it with words, but all of these really capture what I look for in costumes.”

“Clean lines, very few pleats, tailored close to your waistline, embellishments that are eye-catching without being too flamboyant… I could make a few guesses from watching your choices over the years.”

“And I hadn’t even realized I looked for those things,” Victor said. “I just look at a design and know whether I like it or not.”

“Over time, I feel like most people develop an eye for what looks good on them, even if they don’t think about the details,” Yuuri said. “It’s my job to notice the details, though. I only wish…”

Yuuri didn’t finish, but Victor wanted to know. “Wish what?”

Yuuri shook his head. “It’s silly, but I wish this weren’t your last season. I have so many ideas for your costumes that will never see the light of day because you’ll have no reason to have me make them, after this year.”

“I’m not going to stop skating, Yuuri,” Victor reminded him. “Not right away. I may take a year off from performing, I haven’t decided, but I’m still going to skate. There will be more opportunities.”

“Maybe,” Yuuri said. “Maybe you won’t like the end result, and you’ll never want to work with me again.”

Victor couldn’t stifle his laugh. “Yuuri, I don’t think you realize how much I _love_ what you’ve made for me so far. I’ve never, ever, been so in love with a costume based on the design alone, and you made me fall in love _twice_. Your King costume already fits like a dream, and I can’t wait until I can skate in it. I’m sure the Queen will be just as good. Even those aside, though, I would happily wear almost anything you’ve sketched here. I get the feeling I’ll be buying costumes from you until I retire from the ice for good.”

Victor was particularly fascinated by one of the costumes that had a waist-length cape—Yuuri had noted on the page that it was impractical for skating competitions, but might be more appropriate for an exhibition. He was about to make a comment about it when he heard a sniffle from Yuuri, and turned to look at him.

Fat tears fell down Yuuri’s cheeks, his whole body visibly trembling with held back sobs. Victor quickly put the sketchbook aside and wrapped his arms around his lover. “Shh. What’s wrong?”

Yuuri couldn’t seem to speak for a moment, instead pressing his face into Victor’s robe-clad shoulder. When his breathing returned to almost normal, he spoke in a muffled voice. “It’s always been my dream, Victor. Always. I’ve wanted to make costumes for you for almost half my life now. I thought—I thought my dream was dead. When you say things like that, that I’ll get to make more for you… I almost can’t handle it.”

Victor held Yuuri tighter, planting a firm kiss into his hair. “It will be an honor to wear your costumes, Yuuri.”

Yuuri cried more, and Victor continued to hold him close. Eventually the moment passed, and Yuuri pulled away, wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry I’m so pathetic.”

“It’s an overwhelming thing to have your dream realized,” Victor said. “It’s not pathetic to cry. Sometimes it’s the best way to feel better.”

“I do usually feel better after I cry,” Yuuri said, his voice adorably hindered by his stuffed sinuses. “It just seems like such a silly thing to cry about.”

“I don’t think it’s silly at all. And I’m immensely flattered to be such a big part of your dream. If I’d known years ago, I’d like to think I would have helped you realize it sooner.”

“Don’t say things like that, I just stopped crying,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “In all my dreams of meeting you, I never would have thought you’d be like this.”

“Am I not quite living up to your expectations?” Victor teased, poking at Yuuri’s face.

“You’re surpassing them in ways I didn’t expect. I imagined you’d be kind, but I never thought you’d be so…”

Victor waited, but his patience ran out. “So… what?”

Yuuri flushed. “Supportive. It’s not something you make obvious about yourself.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m this way to everyone,” Victor admitted. “But you’ve more than earned my support. You’re remarkably talented.”

“I’m glad you think so, but I’m really nothing special. I’m only this dedicated when it comes to you.”

“That doesn’t feel true to me,” Victor said. “I don’t think Phichit would agree, either. He told me you used to work yourself nearly to death. Is that true?”

Yuuri looked down, ashamed. “I don’t know exactly what he said but… it’s probably true. It wasn’t dedication, though. Not like this.” He gestured to his sketchbook. “I worked because I didn’t know how to do anything else. It was my life. It was the only thing I felt comfortable doing. If I stopped working, I would have to actually confront the fact that I didn’t have anything else keeping me alive. I kept telling myself things would get better soon. Just finish one more costume, and things would get better. Just one more, over and over and over. And then I woke up in a hospital bed after collapsing. That ended up being my turning point.”

Victor’s heart ached severely for him. He gave Yuuri’s shoulder a gentle touch. “I’m so glad things got better for you.”

Yuuri grimaced. “Me too. I didn’t think much about him when I hired him—I just liked his portfolio—but I’m pretty sure Phichit saved my life. He brought me out of that fog and taught me how much more fun my work could be when I didn’t grind myself to the bone every day. It hasn’t always been easy, but he’s made my life better in just about every way. He’s even responsible for bringing you into it.”

“When I first saw you two, I was jealous, because it seemed like you made such a great pair,” Victor said. “I thought to myself, ‘wouldn’t it be nice if I could find something like that?’ I was surprised to know you weren’t together, though I think describing what you two have as friendship is putting it a little lightly.”

“A little,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “We were never all that compatible romantically, though, which was why I would never say we were ‘together.’ I wasn’t exactly great at paying attention to his feelings or what he needed. I was… selfish, without really realizing it. I don’t expect myself to be the greatest boyfriend because of it.”

“I don’t need you to be,” Victor assured him. He put Yuuri’s sketchbook on the bedside table, and stretched out on the bed, beckoning Yuuri to join him. “I just want you to be with me. And I don’t think you’re selfish—far from it. You’ve given me far more than I deserve, just in the short time I’ve known you.”

“I feel like I should be the one saying that,” Yuuri said, sliding alongside Victor and settling into the crook of his arm. “I still can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“Believe it,” Victor said, holding Yuuri close. “Because it is.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since last time, so thank you so much for your patience. Not many people are reading this, but I want to keep going for those who are. So thank you for your support, and I hope you like it!

The scrape of blade on ice sent chills down Yuuri’s spine.

It was never the same, coming through the speakers of his laptop. In real life the sound was always sharper, and cut deeper.

Here, he thought it might just kill him.

Watching Victor practice from the sidelines of the rink wasn’t a dream Yuuri had ever humored. Somehow, it seemed more implausible than even meeting him in person, that he would ever be invited to watch Victor in such an intimate setting, catching glimpses of programs not yet finished. And yet, here he was at Detroit Skating Club, ignoring the smell as he watched his boyfriend practice.

Boyfriend. The word still didn’t sit well in Yuuri’s mind. He wasn’t sure if it was because he still couldn’t believe it, or if the word simply felt wrong, but thinking of Victor as his _boyfriend_ felt like such an absurd thing. Sure, they were technically dating, and it seemed close to a committed relationship, but…

 _Sukinahito_ sounded better in his mind, but it felt a little weak for how close they’d become. Maybe _koibito_? Was there an English equivalent? Yuuri wracked his brain, trying different words he knew…

“Lover…” he whispered, landing on the closest thing he could think of.

“Lover?” Victor had skated up to Yuuri while he was distracted. He reached for his water bottle.

Yuuri shook his head, flushing with embarrassment. “N-nothing. I was just thinking aloud.”

Victor smiled teasingly. “About what? Or should I say… who?”

Yuuri leaned over and impulsively poked Victor’s cheek. “Do you even need to ask?”

Victor captured Yuuri’s hand with his gloved one, the cold leather raising goosebumps. He brushed his lips against it. “I like to be sure about my… _lover’s_ feelings.” He returned Yuuri’s hand. “You’re not bored, are you?”

“No, not at all!” Yuuri assured him. “There are so few videos of your practice out there, that this feels like a rare treat.”

“You could come watch me anytime you like, you know,” Victor said. He swallowed a generous amount of water, and put his bottle back on the railing near Yuuri.

“I wish I could,” Yuuri said. “But I need to work. Everything else is on hold until I finish your costumes.”

“Didn’t you say you’re ahead of schedule? You can afford to take time off here and there.”

“I want them to be perfect,” Yuuri explained. “And to do that, I need to make sure I have enough time. I’ve gotten lucky so far, but if I make any mistakes, they can take a long time to fix, which will throw off the whole schedule. I don’t want to be rushed.”

“Far be it from me to question your methods,” Victor conceded. “But you need time to enjoy yourself every now and then.”

“I know,” Yuuri said, smiling. “It’s why I’m here now.”

Victor’s face took on a strange expression, his cheeks flushed as he pressed the back of his hand to his lips. He pushed off the barrier, skating away without another word.

It had really been a long time since Yuuri had allowed himself to enjoy Victor’s skating. He’d watched a few newer competition videos while he was designing the costumes, but he hadn’t really allowed himself to watch in that obsessive way he used to, where he’d pick apart the details and memorize the routines. The emotions that would have bubbled up as a result would have been too much for him to handle.

Even now, watching Victor skate among the crowd of competitive figure skaters, Yuuri felt on the edge of being overwhelmed. He was still reeling from Victor calling him _lover,_ and the images and memories that brought forth, but watching him skate was another challenge altogether. The way he moved felt surreal, almost alien in his effortless grace, the difference in skill between him and the other skaters clear by just a glance. He danced a complicated step, stopped, and tried again. He switched to another segment of choreography. He glanced at Yuuri, and sped out into a clear space of ice to try a jump, landing cleanly. A quad salchow. Yuuri couldn’t help but cheer with the rest of the onlookers.

Sometimes Yuuri forgot to blink for how thoroughly he was captivated.

“Oh, hey Yuuri. I thought that might be you.”

The familiar voice snapped Yuuri out of his trance. “Oh. Guang-Hong.”

The younger skater smiled. “I would say it’s been a while, but with how often Phichit talks about you, it doesn’t really feel like it. Here to watch Victor?”

“Ye-yeah,” Yuuri said.

Guang-Hong leaned against the barrier. “Phichit said you two were dating, but I couldn’t believe it. Is it really true?”

“It’s—it’s true,” Yuuri said, unable to keep his eyes from following Victor. “But I know what you mean—I can hardly believe it, either.”

“Phichit also said he’s retiring… Is that also true?”

“That’s the plan,” Yuuri confirmed. “But he hasn’t made an announcement yet, so it’s meant to be kept a secret for now, if you could.”

Guang-Hong nodded. “Don’t worry—I only really gossip with Leo and Phichit. It’s not like I have anyone else to talk to who would believe me, anyway.” He sighed. “It’s not going to be the same without him at competitions. I know he hasn’t really won much in a while, but he was always _there,_ you know? Everybody watched him.”

“He’s always been able to captivate an audience,” Yuuri said.

“It was more than that, though,” Guang-Hong said. “He enters a room, and the whole mood changes. People know they’re in the presence of a living legend, and it kind of puts everyone on edge. But he’s so nice if you actually talk to him, and he smiles at everyone, so it’s sort of a double-edged sword. He’ll really be missed, and not just by his fans.”

Guang-Hong didn’t really tell Yuuri anything he didn’t already know, but all the talk of _future_ Victor made him wonder just what would happen between them. What exactly was Victor planning after retirement? Did _he_ even know yet? Would Yuuri be involved in those plans?

It was too early to think about all that. But rationality never stopped Yuuri’s anxiety before, and it wasn’t long before Yuuri had come up with a list of easy reasons their relationship could end, first among them being that they just couldn’t make things work long distance.

 _If we decide this is worth holding onto, I will move mountains and swim oceans to keep it,_ Victor had said.

As Yuuri watched his lover dance across the ice, he decided that he would, too. Some sacrifices would be harder to make than others, but there had to be a way to make it work between them.

That is, if Victor wanted to keep it as much as Yuuri did.

“Should we go eat together?” Victor asked as he changed out of his skates after practice. He was slightly sweaty, a few strands of hair plastered against his forehead.

“S-sure, if you want to.”

“I always want to,” Victor said.

“Anything in particular you’d like to try? We’ve exhausted a lot of my favorite places, but there are others I don’t mind going to.”

Victor put a finger to his chin in thought. Yuuri found the gesture adorable on a man who was supposed to be as distinguished as Victor. “Hm. Maybe somewhere with some interesting healthy options? Most of the places so far have been somewhat lacking in the vegetable department.”

“Ah, yeah. I guess I’ve asked for a lot of junk food.” Yuuri rubbed the back of his head. “There’s a vegan place downtown Phichit and his friends really like. I’ve only been there once, but I liked it well enough.”

Victor smiled. “Sounds good. Be my navigator.”

Though Yuuri didn’t have to do much other than look at his phone and give directions, he found he really enjoyed navigating for Victor. Victor asked questions, repeated what Yuuri said to make sure he’d heard right, and didn’t get frustrated if they got turned around, which wasn’t hard to do downtown. He was basically the opposite of Phichit.

Once they’d ordered their food and sat down, Yuuri felt obligated to show his appreciation. “Usually I get really nervous in cars, but riding with you is fun.”

“Really? Why do you get nervous?”

“Because I don’t like driving much, and Phichit drives like a maniac. But with you… you’re careful. It’s… soothing.” Yuuri felt mortified to admit something so pathetic, but somehow he knew Victor wouldn’t laugh at him.

Victor only smiled—that simple, gentle curve of his lips always melting Yuuri’s insides. “I’m glad. I’d hate to make you nervous. Perhaps someday we can take a road trip together.”

“A r-road trip? Together?” Yuuri couldn’t even imagine what that would be like.

Victor’s smile faded. “I was trying to think of things I’d like to do after I retire. I’ve flown all over the world, but I’ve never taken a road trip anywhere before. Is that not something you’d like?”

Yuuri shook his head vigorously. “I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t like it, I was just… surprised that’s something you’d want to do with me. I’m not—not really the type who travels much, or does interesting things like that.”

Victor leaned forward and gave him a pointed look. “Would you want to be?”

Yuuri leaned back. “Wh-what?”

“Do you want to be the type of person who travels, and does interesting things?”

Yuuri thought he might be joking, but it was such a strange thing to joke about, and his eyes were completely serious. Yuuri decided on a serious answer. “I—I mean, maybe a little? I don’t think I’d want to go out on adventures every weekend, but when I opened my life up with Phichit, things only got better for me. I might overall prefer a quiet life, but I won’t automatically say no to something like a road trip.”

Victor’s smile returned, and Yuuri felt himself relax. Something about that smile really put him at ease, anchoring him to a good feeling when there was still so much uncertainty in his heart. “Let’s go then. Do you want to go around America? Maybe the Swiss countryside? Or perhaps… Japan?”

“Japan isn’t the best for taking road trips,” Yuuri said. “There are better ways to get around than by driving. But… I wouldn’t mind a vacation there someday. With you.”

“Will you show me your hometown?” Victor asked excitedly. “Let me meet your family?”

Too fast. It was all too fast. But somehow, Yuuri wasn’t panicking like he expected. The idea made him nervous, sure, but it didn’t seem like a terrible thing to experience. “Someday, maybe. I think they’d be surprised if I came home with you.”

“Surprised… in a good way?”

Yuuri thought for a moment. “It’s hard to say. I don’t really know how they’d react. I’ve sort of lost touch with their expectations of me, since I haven’t been home in a while. They might not entirely understand, but I don’t think they’d be unsupportive.”

“Do they know you… enjoy the company of men?” Victor asked delicately.

“I never outright told them, but if they couldn’t figure it out through my clear obsession of you, that’s on them,” Yuuri said bluntly. “My sister definitely knows, though. She caught me kissing one of your pictures, and teased me about it for weeks afterward.”

Victor chuckled. “Younger, or older?”

“Older. My only sibling.” Since Victor seemed interested, he kept talking. “She works at home in my parents’ _onsen_ —er, hot springs bath house.”

“A hot springs bath house? That sounds like heaven.”

“It’s a relaxing place, if you’re a customer,” Yuuri said. “For me, though, going home just means getting roped into work. I haven’t visited in a few years because of it. Well, that, and I haven’t really been able to spare the time or money.”

Their food arrived, Yuuri’s falafels steaming invitingly. Victor had ordered a soup of some kind, accompanied by a colorful salad, both of which smelled amazing.

“Can I ask an invasive question?” Victor asked.

Yuuri nodded warily.

“Is your business… doing well? Are you keeping yourself afloat?”

“We do alright,” Yuuri said. “The company makes enough for me to pay the bills and Phichit and have enough left over to keep a decent savings. I’m able to replace equipment when we need it, and keep a healthy stock of supplies.”

Victor frowned. “What about yourself?”

“What about me?”

“Do you pay yourself? Take a salary? Give yourself vacations?”

“I… don’t need it.”

Victor’s frown deepened. “Yuuri, everyone needs a break now and then. And how do you buy things for yourself if you don’t pay yourself?”

“I have a set amount in our budget for household expenses, and it’s not like I don’t pay myself _anything…_ ”

“How much?”

“Eh?”

“How much do you pay yourself?” Victor asked, his tone just short of demanding.

Yuuri was mortified to be asked such a question. “I—I give myself a hundred a week,” he muttered.

Victor gasped. “That’s _all?”_

“We-well, it’s not like I need any more than that, when everything else is taken care of,” Yuuri said, feeling miserable under all this scrutiny. “I’d rather put more into the company.”

Victor paid attention to his food, so Yuuri ate, too. But he knew Victor was thinking of something else to say, some argument about how Yuuri should give himself more. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard that lecture, and he had his arguments ready.

“Why do you do this?” Victor asked. “If not for the money, why make costumes?”

Yuuri opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the question wasn’t quite what he expected. He thought for a moment. “Do you think you would keep skating, if you didn’t get paid for it? Imagine all other living expenses paid, like food and housing and equipment and bills. All essentials taken care of. Would you still skate?”

Victor visibly gave it some thought. “Probably. I haven’t tried it in a long time, but if I go too long without skating, I get itchy. Anxious. Last time I was injured nearly killed me, for how hard it was to stay off the ice.”

Yuuri nodded, expecting an answer like that. “Replace skating with costumes, and that’s where I am. It’s what I know. It’s what I _do._ Maybe someday, if my work demands higher prices, and I have nothing else to invest in for the company, I’ll pay myself more. But right now I’m far more comfortable keeping the money in the business and helping it succeed. I don’t feel right taking more than I need.”

Victor looked down at his food. “I suppose I understand. I might’ve gone about it a different way, but I see your perspective. I’ll probably never understand what it’s like to create a business, though.”

“It’s simpler if you think of it just as a way to monetize doing what I love,” Yuuri explained. “You get your winnings and sponsorships, I get customers. I’ve had to learn on my feet about a lot of things, because there are rules and complications about running a business, but it’s all for the goal that I can keep doing what I’m doing. Every decision I make in regards to money is just for the hopes that I can continue doing this for the rest of my working life.”

Yuuri wished he were more comfortable speaking about these things, but discussing the specifics of money always made him uneasy. He negotiated Phichit’s salary entirely through email, even after they’d been living together, because it was safer than trying to talk about it face to face. Yuuri desperately wanted to change the subject, but he didn’t want to make it seem like he was avoiding the questions.

Victor gave him a concerned look. “I’ve upset you.”

Yuuri shook his head. “No. N-not really.”

“I have. This isn’t something you normally discuss with people, is it? And I’m asking all these invasive questions…”

Victor was more observant than Yuuri would have thought. Yuuri lowered his head, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? I should be apologizing to you.” Victor reached over and lightly touched Yuuri’s arm. “I _am_ sorry. I’m only worried about you.”

Yuuri blinked. “Worried? Why?”

“I’m worried you’re not taking proper care of yourself. I know what it’s like to be obsessive to the point that it takes over your entire life. What Phichit told me made me worry that you might be destroying yourself for your passions.”

“I’m not as good as I could be, I’ll admit,” Yuuri said. “I rely too much on Phichit, still, and some days I do forget to eat or work too late. But… That person I was before, the one who knew nothing else in life, is completely gone. I lost him the day I woke up in the hospital. I buried him when I hired Phichit. And, if I’m honest, I stopped mourning him the day you stepped into my life. Everything you’ve seen, whether I’m working, or eating, or talking with Phichit, or being with you… That’s me living the life I want. I’m not the person I used to be. I’m not even close. The only thing more I could ask for is the certainty that I’ll get to keep things the way they are, and that’s not something anyone gets to ask for.”

“So you’re saying… you’re happy with your life?”

“I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” Yuuri said. “I’m happier than I ever thought I’d be. How could I not be?”

Victor’s lip trembled, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. He looked close to tears.

Yuuri leaned back, bewildered. What happened? Why was Victor crying? “What’s wrong?”

Victor shook his head, wiping his eyes. “Nothing, nothing.” He gave Yuuri a smile. “I’m just happy that you’re happy.”

Victor drove Yuuri back to the workshop after they finished eating, but he didn’t linger, claiming he needed some rest and quiet after putting his body through so much the past day. Yuuri didn’t try to persuade him otherwise. Though he knew their time together was limited, it wouldn’t be practical to spend _all_ their time at each other’s side.

Still, Yuuri sighed at the empty workshop, feeling a little lonely without Victor. They’d spent a full twenty-four hours together, and Yuuri had gotten used to having him there to look at, to talk to, to touch. He wondered if it would be rude to call him later. Probably, if Victor wanted to relax.

“Yuuri! You’re back!”

Yuuri wasn’t allowed to feel lonely for long. Phichit cheerfully greeted him from upstairs, and put his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders as soon as he was within reach. “How was it? Do you need to eat?” He sniffed around Yuuri’s head. “You smell like you’ve eaten.”

“We ate just before coming here,” Yuuri said, dropping his bag onto the floor of the kitchen. “That vegan place you like.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t expect you to pick that place.”

Yuuri shrugged out of Phichit’s arm to sit down at the table. “He wanted healthy, and that was the first place I thought of. It’s not like I hate it.”

Phichit sat across from him, watching warily. “So are things… going well? They must be, if your date went on for an entire day.”

“Despite making an ass of myself more than once, I’d say they’re going pretty well,” Yuuri said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to idly check it, even though there was no reason to. “I’m still afraid he’ll wake up in a few days and realize how boring I am.”

“Stop that,” Phichit said, reaching over and patting Yuuri’s cheek in a mockery of a slap. “You’re not boring, and you know it. You’re _especially_ not boring to him—he’s clearly smitten with you.”

“I have no idea why.”

Phichit huffed. “Um, maybe because you satisfy him in bed, you give him all your attention when he’s around, you’re making him costumes that seem less like performance accessories and more like personal tributes, _and_ you’re smoking hot. When you want to be, anyway.”

Yuuri’s face turned hot. “I don’t—I’m not—”

Phichit gave him a sad smile. “I know you can’t see it, and it breaks my heart. But he’s with you, Yuuri, because he wants to be. Because you’re worth being with.”

Yuuri was beginning to notice that, little by little, arguing about his weaknesses got harder. Phichit seemed to have more convincing arguments each time, and, frankly, Yuuri was growing tired of trying to prove he wasn’t worthy of being Victor Nikiforov’s lover. Was he finally starting to believe it? The idea was still hard to swallow, hard to take at face value, but perhaps a part of him was finally accepting the truth of the situation. His doubts, at any rate, seemed to be getting quieter by the day.

“How was your day?” Yuuri asked, intently changing the subject.

“Boring,” Phichit said. “I sketched a little, watched a really dumb documentary on Netflix about ghosts, ate a sandwich, and took a nap.”

“Didn’t talk to your friends?”

Phichit shook his head, pulling his arms back close to his body. “Not today.”

Yuuri ached to see his friend so withdrawn. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Phichit said. “There’s not much I can say, really. It’s all in my head. It’s all stupid dumb stuff that’s only coming out now because—” He snapped his mouth shut and turned away. “It’s just stupid, I promise.”

“It’s not stupid if you’re this worked up about it,” Yuuri said helplessly. “We don’t have to talk about it, but—”

“Good. Let’s not.” Phichit stood, plastering on a smile. “Let’s go grocery shopping. We don’t have any food here.”

“A-alright,” Yuuri said, standing as well. He knew whatever had just happened wasn’t finished, and would probably come back later, but he was grateful to move past it for now. He wasn’t sure how well he could help his friend right now. Even if his intentions were good, he had a sinking fear that he’d only make things worse, somehow.

When they got back from grocery shopping, the mood had relaxed between them considerably. This always seemed to happen with Phichit—no matter how down he seemed to be, like a rubber band he’d always snap right back to cheerful at the next opportunity.

Something Phichit had said earlier nagged on Yuuri’s mind throughout the shopping trip, though, and he decided to try and do something about it. “Do you want some work?”

Phichit stopped in the middle of putting away the sugar, turning to Yuuri with a frown. “What do you mean? You said you wanted to make Victor’s costumes on your own.”

“There’s no reason everything else has to be put on hold while I do that, though,” Yuuri said.

“Yes it does,” Phichit said. “I have no idea how to even begin patterning for the next two customers. Not to mention we haven’t gotten their measurements yet.”

“I’m almost done with the patterning for the Queen,” Yuuri said. “Once that’s finished, it’s all assembly, which you know tires me out more than patterning does. I could work on the patterns of the next two for you in the downtime.”

“Yuuri—no. That’s more work for you, when you’re already pushing your hours again. And what if it pushes back your schedule? Don’t worry about me—I’ll find a way to keep busy.”

Yuuri looked down at his half-empty bag of groceries, thinking he might should drop it there. It had only been a fleeting thought, after all. But the more he worked it in his mind, the more he realized he wanted to do it. “I want to work with you again. I feel like I’ve been pushing you away with all this Victor stuff, and it’s not fair to you at all.”

Phichit gave him a look that reminded Yuuri of a wounded animal, and those sad eyes stabbed right into Yuuri’s chest.

“Let me do this for you,” Yuuri persisted. “Please. I promise I’ll sleep and eat and take care of myself. I’ll keep my hours to a sane level. I’m far enough ahead of schedule that I _know_ I can spare the time, so just... Give me your designs and let me work on them, okay?”

Phichit’s wide eyes held Yuuri’s for a long moment, thoughtful and hesitant. “Okay. I need to consult with them to finalize the designs first, but after I get their measurements, I’ll hand it over to you. But you need to promise me, _promise_ me you won’t let this affect your work on Victor’s costumes. Or your health.”

“I promise,” Yuuri said sincerely.

Yuuri actually started work on it that night, once he’d convinced Phichit to let him see the preliminary designs. He didn’t do too much work, since there was a chance they’d be scrapped, but Yuuri wanted to have a basic idea of what he was getting himself into, so he started sketching the general shape of the pieces. They weren’t too far out of his comfort zone, but he could see why Phichit hesitated to try patterning himself. For someone who loved asymmetrical designs, Phichit really wasn’t great with patterning them.

The work kept him so engaged he almost missed Victor’s call, barely noticing his phone buzzing across the workshop.

“Hello?”

_“Yuuri. Sorry, did I wake you?”_

“No, I’ve been awake.” Yuuri actually had no idea what time it was. He tapped frantically on his laptop to wake it up, just so he could see the clock, and inwardly sighed with relief when he saw it was just after midnight. “How are you?”

_“I miss you.”_

That was all he said. Just that simple, baffling phrase, and Yuuri was rendered almost speechless. It wasn’t playful, or flirty—the words sounded heavy, like he was reluctant to admit it, but helpless to do anything about it. Yuuri knew pointing out that they’d just seen each other wouldn’t be helpful. “I miss you, too.”

_“You do? Because I honestly feel a little pathetic.”_

“Don’t,” Yuuri said automatically. “Is everything alright?”

_“I don’t know. Probably. I was just having trouble sleeping, but I’m already starting to feel a little better.”_

“Is this something that happens often? That you have trouble sleeping?”

_“Not really. This is a new thing for me. That I don’t know how to deal with it is probably only making it worse.”_

“Is it the unfamiliar apartment?”

_“…Maybe.”_

“When I first moved here, I got really homesick, and had a lot of trouble sleeping in my dorm. Maybe it’s similar?”

 _“That would be an easy explanation.”_ He sighed audibly. _“Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s the right one. I’ve traveled for most of my life, and I’ve never had trouble like this.”_

It sounded like he already knew what the problem was, but talked around it for some reason. “What do you think is wrong, then?”

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, he sounded distant. “ _I already said, Yuuri. I miss you.”_

“But it’s only been—”

 _“I know it’s only been half a day!”_ Victor cried, sounding desperate even over the phone. _“I know it’s pathetic and I know it’s too much. I feel like I’m going insane, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for calling you after midnight sounding like a crazy person.”_

“Victor, calm down, it’s alright,” Yuuri said, absolutely bewildered. “It’s alright, I promise. Do I need to drive over there?”

 _“Don’t,”_ Victor said immediately. _“I know you don’t like driving, and you probably hate it more at night.”_

“I can hardly see at night,” Yuuri admitted. “But if you needed me, I would drive over there.”

_“All I wanted was to hear your voice for a minute. I didn’t mean to turn it all dramatic. I just feel so helpless right now. I’ve never felt this way before. About anyone.”_

Yuuri inhaled sharply, the implications making his face go hot.

_“Yuuri? Are you okay?”_

“Fine, fine,” Yuuri assured him, his voice nearly squeaking. He cleared his throat. “Listen—never feel bad about calling me, alright? I’ll happily talk to you, even if it’s just to talk about nothing for a few minutes. Day or night, even if I’m already in bed.”

_“I can’t stand the thought of waking you up just for this, but I… really do appreciate the offer. I’ll try not to abuse it.”_

“Abuse away,” Yuuri said. “You being able to sleep is more important. I won’t forgive you if you don’t call me when you need it.”

Yuuri heard a warm laugh on the other end. _“Alright. Can I see you again tomorrow?”_

Yuuri hesitated just a fraction of a second, thinking of Phichit. “Yeah. I don’t know if I should leave again, or have you stay the night, but—”

_“No, don’t worry about all of that. I just want to see you. I can bring food for the three of us, if Phichit will be there.”_

“He might be. I’ll ask him tomorrow and get back to you.”

 _“Okay.”_ Victor yawned. _“I should probably try to get some sleep. You should, too.”_

“I will. Will you be alright?”

_“I think so.”_

“Call me if you’re not. I’ll talk as long as you need.”

Victor laughed again. _“Alright. Goodnight, Yuuri.”_

“Goodnight, Victor. Sleep well.”

Yuuri sat alone in the silence for a moment, reflecting on what he just learned. Victor _missed_ him? So much that he _couldn’t sleep?_ Yuuri felt a swirl of flattery and confusion, wondering the best way to deal with this. It scared him to think of Victor unable to do his best because of him. What would happen after Victor went back to Russia? What if he couldn’t sleep at all, then?

Yuuri shook his head, trying to clear away the spiraling thoughts. What had he gotten himself into? He didn’t want Victor’s performance to suffer. Perhaps their relationship had been a mistake.

Aching with those feelings, Yuuri turned off the lights and went upstairs. Phichit had fallen asleep on the couch, and Netflix seemed to have given up on him a while ago. Yuuri gently nudged him awake.

“Let’s go to bed,” Yuuri said softly.

Phichit groaned and opened his arms, and Yuuri lifted him to standing, keeping a steady arm around his friend to avoid stumbling. Once Phichit was snuggled beneath the covers, Yuuri plugged in their phones, turned off the lights, and joined him in bed.

“Yuuri…” Phichit mumbled, turning on his side and facing away from him. Yuuri waited, but that seemed to be all he had to say.

Yuuri slid closer to Phichit, putting an arm around his narrow waist and pulling him into an embrace. Phichit gave a low, tired laugh and snuggled back, settling into one of their favorite sleeping positions.

Yuuri didn’t sleep right away. He kept thinking of Victor, wondering how things had gotten this way so quickly. The thought of their relationship having a negative impact on Victor’s performance weighed heavily on his stomach, so much that he felt physically pained by it. What was he going to do? How could things continue like this?

Yuuri drifted off without an answer.


	15. Chapter 15

The enticing smell of fried food made Victor’s mouth water as soon as he’d stepped into the restaurant. His appetite only grew as he drove back, the bags of food sitting in his passenger seat practically begging to be plundered. Victor gave in to temptation and snuck a fry while he waited at a red light, firmly telling himself that he wouldn’t be eating much. One piece of fish, perhaps a handful of fries. That was it. If he was still hungry later, he could prepare himself a salad as soon as he returned to his apartment. He had no business stuffing himself with greasy food. He was an _athlete,_ and not a young one.

Funny how his mind’s voice sounded a lot like Yakov, in this situation.

Yuuri greeted him at the door with a smile. His eyes lit up as usual, but this time his attention wasn’t focused on the food, instead on Victor’s face. Not a week ago Yuuri could hardly look him in the eyes for more than a second, but now he held his gaze, opening the door wider without breaking eye contact. “Come in.”

It was scary how quickly things could change.

“How was practice?” Yuuri asked as they walked up the stairs, and Victor gave vague answers until he was sure Yuuri was actually interested in the details. He hadn’t really unloaded about skating to anyone who wasn’t a fellow skater before, but Yuuri listened with rapt attention, asking questions Victor wouldn’t expect a fan to ask. His knowledge of Victor’s skill set was frankly a little terrifying, especially when he could list Victor’s completion percentages in competitions off hand, both cumulatively and by jump.

“Don’t tell me you compiled that information yourself,” Victor said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“…No.” Some things might have changed, but Yuuri was clearly no better at lying than he was before.

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri flushed deeply. “Okay, I might have charts… that I update with every new competition…”

“Did you update them recently, then?” Victor asked. “Otherwise I’d assume they’d be out of date, considering your… fan hiatus.”

Yuuri nodded shamefully. “I got inspired after watching you practice yesterday. I’m sorry.”

Victor laughed. “Don’t be. Your passion is admirable, even if I don’t think I’m a worthy subject. Others have had more interesting careers than me.”

“I don’t care about the others,” Yuuri muttered, going to the fridge. “What would you like to drink? We have beer today.”

“Beer’s good,” Victor said. “I thought you said Phichit would be here.”

“He had some errands to run, but he should be back any minute.” Yuuri put two tall cans on the bar. He pulled some glasses out of the freezer and filled them up, then brought them over to the table. “Though I wouldn’t put it past him to take his time just to give us a few minutes alone.”

“I’d hate for his food to get cold,” Victor said, digging into the bag.

“He’d consider it a noble sacrifice, I think,” Yuuri said. He finally sat down. “If he waits too long, though, I might steal his fish.”

Phichit came in to claim his food a few minutes later, and Victor felt his nerves about last night melt away. It was so _normal_ , eating with the two of them. Victor couldn’t remember the last time he’d regularly eaten with friends of his own. He shared lunch with rinkmates, sometimes, but they rarely spoke to him on a personal level, instead always talking or asking about skating. No one inquired about his favorite books, his methods of studying languages, his favorite cities or music. Few back home were actually interested in who he was as a person, and while he’d made peace with that fact long ago, he hadn’t really understood what he’d been missing until spending significant time with people who were.

Victor was enjoying himself so much that he ended up eating two massive slabs of fried fish, at least two fistfuls of fries, and downing two beers. He promised himself he’d make up for it later with extra running, but in the moment, he didn’t regret his decision. The conversation and atmosphere had been worth lingering for.

Yuuri caught Victor up on the progress of his costume—still patterning, but he’d begun testing his work, the first attempt already pinned up to the dressform—and before long Victor took his leave, full and fulfilled in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Yuuri called him that night unprompted, mentioning nothing about the previous night’s pathetic call, but clearly doing it to ease Victor’s mind. His restlessness hadn’t been as bad as the night before, but he appreciated the idle conversation anyway, Yuuri’s voice relaxing him better than any alcohol.

The next day they had another dinner out, culminating in beautiful, almost wordless sex where they spent a long time learning each other’s bodies, then quietly conversing about everything and nothing until they fell asleep.

Victor should have known it was all going too well.

His life had always felt as though it were in a delicate balance of good and bad. When he was skating his best, he always felt his loneliest. When he connected with a new person, someone else in his life always drifted away.

When he’d won his sixth consecutive gold at the Grand Prix Final, his dog passed away.

So it stood to reason that, with Yuuri bringing so much light into his life, something else had to be taken away. He just hadn’t expected it so suddenly, nor quite so soon.

He’d been enjoying a slice of cake with Yuuri after a dinner alone at the workshop when he got the call. He wanted to ignore it, but something told him that Yuri calling at that hour had to be something important, so he excused himself and answered.

Victor had barely had time to hold the phone to his ear before Yuri started growling. _“Hey asshole, get back to Russia right now.”_

“What happened?”

For a moment, Victor heard only silence, his heart already sinking before Yuri spoke. _“Yakov collapsed. They’re taking him to the hospital.”_ His voice was beginning to break, clearly distressed.

Victor hissed, cold dread hitting his chest. “Shit. What happened?”

_“We don’t know yet. He was getting ready for bed and he just… fell. Lost consciousness. Lilia called for an ambulance and they’re on their way to the hospital now. I’m about to take off myself, but I needed to call you, first. Get back here as soon as you can.”_

“I’ll take the next flight I can,” Victor promised. “ _Please_ keep me updated. I know you hate texting me, but—”

_“Fuck off with that. I’ll text you as soon as I hear anything. Or maybe email, since you’ll be on the plane.”_

“Yeah,” Victor said, his head inexplicably bobbing along. “Yeah, do that. I’ll let you know when I leave.”

_“Alright. I’m heading out.”_ Yuri hung up.

It was clear Yuuri could tell there was something wrong as soon as Victor returned to the table. “What is it?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yakov. He’s—in the hospital.”

Yuuri immediately stood and gathered Victor in his arms. Victor felt himself put most of his weight on Yuuri’s shoulders, but it did little to combat how heavy he felt. “Is it serious?” Yuuri asked. “Is he going to be okay?”

Victor shook his head, tears already pooling in his eyes. “We don’t know. I don’t know anything. All I know is that I have to go back.”

“Of course,” Yuuri said. “Want to use my laptop to book the flight? Or will you just go to the airport?”

Victor didn’t want to do any of that. He wanted to stand there and cling to Yuuri’s calm, soothing presence for the rest of his life. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Yuuri held him tighter, shushing him gently.

Victor didn’t often cry. Not like this. But the sudden impact of potentially losing Yakov broke him open. It would take hours, possibly a full day to get back to Russia. He might be too late to see his coach again before he…

Victor couldn’t even _think_ those words.

Eventually he pulled away from Yuuri and took him up on his offer to find a flight. Yuuri did most of the work while Victor stared blankly at the screen, nodding along to Yuuri’s gentle suggestions.

“It’s a shame you just missed one that’s taking off in about thirty minutes,” Yuuri said. “Next one isn’t for twelve hours. Well, there’s one that leaves in six, but with the layover you’re not getting there any faster. Better to sleep in a real bed while you can.”

Yuuri nudged Victor through the buying process, and once it was all done and confirmed, it suddenly hit Victor that Yuuri wasn’t coming with him. Why had that thought even crossed his mind? There was no reason for Yuuri to follow him back to Russia—he didn’t know Yakov, and his work wasn’t exactly something he could take with him, unlike Victor’s.

But Victor desperately wished Yuuri would come.

His dependency on Yuuri was frankly starting to scare him a little. He had no business asking Yuuri to put his life on hold for him, and no reason to believe that Yuuri’s presence would make things any easier. The pain would be the same, no matter who he turned to for comfort. It was for entirely selfish reasons he wanted Yuuri to go with him, and though he always saw himself as a selfish person, he couldn’t ask such a thing of Yuuri.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” Yuuri asked, offer free of implications.

Victor wanted to, but he knew that spending more time with Yuuri would only make it that much harder to leave him tomorrow. “I should go and pack, and make sure I’m leaving the apartment in good condition.”

Yuuri didn’t look disappointed, exactly, but he did seem concerned. “Will you try to sleep?”

“I’ll do my best,” Victor said. “But I get the feeling I’ll be waking up every hour to check my phone.”

“Call me if you need to,” Yuuri said. “And keep me posted if anything happens.”

As Victor left Yuuri with a lingering kiss, he got the strangest feeling that things would be alright. The reality of the situation was quick to squash that little bubble of hope, but Yuuri’s clear feelings for him felt like a warm scarf in the face of a blizzard. Not nearly enough to stave off the cold wind and ice, but something he was immensely grateful to have, anyway.

Victor drove without thinking, and once he arrived at the apartment, he robotically packed up all his belongings, focusing only on the task at hand lest he fall into a spiral of despair. He still checked his phone every ten minutes, but there were no messages from Yuri. When Victor asked for a status update, he’d only replied _in the waiting room._ Victor took that to mean that, if there were any news, Yuri wasn’t yet privy to it.

Victor went through the motions to get ready for bed, mentally compiling a list of things he needed to do in the morning. But as he closed his eyes, his mind opened up, and every terrible scenario he could think of played out in his head. When he’d cried enough to regain control of those thoughts, a different part of his brain kicked in, providing pleasant memories with his coach. Memories of Victor’s first competition, of Yakov fixing Victor’s hair, muttering about how tangled it would get. Of all the times Victor received praise from Yakov, memorable for how rare they were. Their last conversation on the phone, discussing Victor’s music and his progress with choreography, Victor reluctantly mentioning that he’d found someone and Yakov half-heartedly warning him to not get distracted.

Fresh, hot tears fell down Victor’s cheeks, but the pain had dulled to a soft ache in his head and chest, and he grew so weary that he was able to drift off to a gentle sleep, albeit a relatively short one.

When Victor woke up he immediately checked his phone, biting back disappointment when he found there was nothing new. There was no reason to be disappointed when news had equal potential to be bad or good. Unknown, for now, was okay, even if it made him a nervous wreck.

Victor pushed himself through a shower, finished packing up the last few personal items, double-checked the apartment for anything left behind, left the keys with someone in the residential office, and loaded up his rental car. Once he sat down behind the wheel, though, he fell apart again, his body no longer able to distract his mind with physical tasks. Everything hit him so heavily that he couldn’t tell what bothered him more—saying goodbye to Yuuri, or his reason for needing to. Of course he was more upset about Yakov, but Yuuri had been such a steady source of happiness the past week that to leave him behind felt like leaving behind an important part of himself. He couldn’t even comfort himself with the thought that they’d see each other again, because he had no idea when that would be. Not soon enough, at any rate.

Gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary, Victor forced himself to drive. It was a Saturday morning, so traffic thankfully wasn’t too awful, but he still took it more slowly than usual to ensure he didn’t make any costly mistakes. He arrived at the workshop shaken, but safe.

Phichit opened the door. “You can come in, but he’s sleeping. When does your flight leave?”

“Four hours,” Victor said.

“Give him thirty more minutes,” Phichit said. He led Victor inside and gestured for him to sit in one of the wheeled chairs they worked in, Phichit opting to lean on the edge of a nearby table. “I know you’re roughed up and really want to see him, but he worked straight through the night, and I’m forcing him to get a little sleep. I’m not going to risk him collapsing again.”

Victor frowned. “What? Why was he working?”

Phichit hesitated, lips pressed together in thought. He turned, walked to a shadowy corner of the workshop, and returned with an armful of silvery fabric.

Victor’s King jacket.

“He wanted to send you back with something,” Phichit said, holding out the garment for Victor to see. The back of the jacket glittered with tiny gems, arranged in the pattern of roses Yuuri had showed him what seemed like ages ago. The sketchbook really hadn’t done justice to the final result—it was absolutely stunning, the way the gems subtly contrasted with the shine of the fabric, elegantly catching the light without being too glaring. Phichit didn’t give Victor a chance to touch it, instead carefully laying it back on the table. “It needs to cure for a little while longer. We’ll pack it safely for traveling, but it shouldn’t be handled right now.”

“He really didn’t need to push himself to finish it,” Victor said weakly.

Phichit sighed. “I told him the same thing, but he was very stubborn about it. He said he didn’t want your visit to be a waste.” When Victor opened his mouth to respond, Phichit held up his hand. “Don’t worry—I told him how stupid he sounded.”

“Nothing about this visit was a waste,” Victor said. “None of it. The only wasteful thing is that it’s ending so soon.”

“Will you… come back?” Phichit asked.

“I don’t know,” Victor said, the words difficult to get out. “Not this season, probably. There’s a lot of work to be done yet on my programs, and while I can practice anywhere, it’s become apparent that I’m too rooted to my home rink to really feel comfortable skating anywhere else for a long period of time.”

Phichit didn’t look any happier about that than Victor felt. “How is your coach doing? Is there any news?”

Victor checked his phone again, still with no notifications. “Nothing yet. Which means the worst hasn’t happened, but I wish I had some good news. It’s going to be a long flight.”

“I’m sorry,” Phichit said earnestly.

Victor gave a pained smile. “Thank you. I wish… I wish I could take Yuuri with me.”

“I have a pretty good feeling he would follow you if you asked,” Phichit said with a grimace. “But for his sake, I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I’m not going to,” Victor said. “I couldn’t. To have him give up so much of his time, his work, just so I could have a shoulder to cry on?” He shook his head. The thought of it broke his heart.

Phichit smiled. “You know, before I met you, I thought you would be the type to ask for that sort of thing. That you’d have no trouble putting a burden on others for your own comfort. I’m glad to know I was wrong.”

“Not that I think I’m undeserving of such an assumption, but why did you think that?” Victor asked. “I’m curious. Was it because of Yuuri?”

“It was long before Yuuri, I think,” Phichit said. “I never thought you were a bad person, but compared to me, you were a rich man. You made more in one competition than my whole family would see in a year. It was an extension of that sentiment, really—I believed rich people only cared about themselves. But after meeting you, and knowing you for a little while, I realize you’re just sort of… incidentally rich. You didn’t choose this path to make yourself money. You don’t throw money around to make a statement, you just use it to make your life easier, like everyone does. And you use it to help make the people you care about happy.”

“I admit I don’t often think about money, which I realize is one of the many blessings I have in life,” Victor said solemnly. “I suppose I deserve those sorts of assumptions, but I do try to be generous when I can.”

Phichit lowered his eyes. “You and Yuuri share that trait.”

“Yuuri should be considered far more generous than me, I think,” Victor said.

“He is,” Phichit said without hesitation. “He doesn’t have a lot, but he gives me so much it’s not even funny. Did he ever mention I don’t pay to live here?”

Victor tilted his head. “No. Does it not come out of your salary?”

“He pays me over twice minimum wage, so I honestly doubt it. He won’t let me argue about it, either. The company pays the bills, he said, and I’ve seen the numbers—unless we combine all our material and supply costs, I’m the biggest bill the company has. Which is insane, to me. I was straight out of college, I had no experience—Yuuri just took me into his _actual home_ and told me to do the thing I loved, and he would pay me for it. He’s… he’s just so…”

Victor waited, but it seemed that was all Phichit wanted to say. He got the point across, at least, and it made something click in Victor’s mind. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Phichit looked at Victor. “What’s him?”

“Your friends weren’t the source of your problems,” Victor deduced. “Yuuri was. You have feelings for him, beyond friendship, and you don’t know what to do with that with me around.”

Phichit opened his mouth, eyes fierce and ready to argue, but his gaze shifted away, and he hugged himself. “My friends are a part of the problem, too, but I’m not going to argue that Yuuri has nothing to do with it. I didn’t… I didn’t think I loved Yuuri that way. I didn’t think I could be with him that way, because I felt like I needed more than what he was willing to give me, romantically. But then you come into the picture and he lights up like a Christmas tree. Suddenly there’s this whole other side to Yuuri that I didn’t even know about, and he turns into one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever known. I was jealous. I _am_ jealous. And it’s stupid because I know he’s only this way because it’s you.” Phichit shook his head. “Sorry. You don’t need this right now. Or ever, really.”

“Yuuri is a far safer subject than anything else I should be thinking about right now,” Victor told him gently. “But know that your jealousy, in this case, is reciprocated.”

Phichit laughed in disbelief. “What?”

“You get to look after him,” Victor said with a sad smile. “I get to go halfway across the world and worry about my coach and force myself back to work, while you get to stay here with him. Work with him, share meals with him, sleep beside him. I would give up almost everything to be able to trade places with you, except that I wouldn’t wish my fate on anyone right now.”

“I would make that trade,” Phichit said soberly, “if I were the one that Yuuri loved at the end of it all. If I could be the one that makes his eyes sparkle and his smile light up the room, I’d endure almost anything.” He touched the seam on the leg of his jeans thoughtfully. “I hope I’m not coming across like I want you to break up, or anything. Because definitely I don’t.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Victor assured him. “You’re practically responsible for bringing us together. You’ve been by far our biggest cheerleader.”

It was warming to see Phichit’s smile return. “I want Yuuri to be happy. That, I think, trumps everything else I could possibly want from him. And it’s clear he’s happiest with you. I think what I’m actually jealous of is your relationship, more than you yourself. I want to have that sort of love with… anyone, really.”

“Trust me when I said I didn’t look for it,” Victor said. “Yuuri blindsided me, and while I’m no expert, I think that’s usually how it goes. Actively seeking love doesn’t often yield the greatest results. The strongest love is either found after the planets align just right, or grown. I got lucky, and right now it seems I’m paying for that luck.”

Phichit reached out and touched Victor’s shoulder consolingly. “I’m sorry you have to go through this now, when things are just getting started. But you should know, Yuuri’s patient. He’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes, as long as he knows you’re coming back to him. Don’t abuse that patience, though, or I’ll have to come after you.”

“I’m more concerned with how long _I’ll_ be able to wait before I do something stupid.” Victor shook his head ruefully. “Don’t worry, though—the last thing I want to do is hurt him. Is it too entitled of me to ask you to look after him? Make sure he doesn’t bury himself too deeply in work?”

“Not really, since I was going to, anyway,” Phichit said. He withdrew. “I’ll do you one better, though—I’ll send you pictures.”

Victor laughed. “Really? I’m not saying I won’t appreciate it, but is it really necessary?”

“You might convince him to give you video calls, but good luck trying to get him to send you selfies. I can get really _good_ photos, too.”

“Don’t go overboard,” Victor said, though he could admit to himself he was already tempted by the offer. “I don’t want to feel like I’m invading his privacy.”

Phichit waved a hand. “He has rules, and I adhere to them, but he’s never minded me taking photos. He gets embarrassed if he’s aware of it, but a part of him loves the camera.”

Victor was curious about Yuuri’s rules, and how they’d been established in the first place, but he decided that was a discussion for later. “I’m looking forward to it, then. Is there anything you want in return?”

Phichit hesitated, his eyes serious as they looked at Victor. “Just promise me you’ll come back to him. Don’t give him this taste of love and leave him without it for the rest of his life. Do what you have to for your career, he’ll understand that, but don’t abandon him.”

Victor stood and held out his hand, which Phichit shook firmly. “I promise. I’m already trying to come up with the nearest time I can see him again, but it’s difficult without knowing the full situation.”

Phichit nodded. “Will you be okay, though?”

Victor reassured him with a smile. “I have a skating family in Russia that will look after me, don’t worry. In times like this, we come together and support each other. I won’t be alone.”

“Alright then.” Phichit swallowed. “I’m going to take off for a while. Take Yuuri with you to the airport—I’ll make sure he gets back.”

Victor nodded. “Thank you.”

After just a moment’s hesitation, Phichit wrapped his arms around Victor in a brief, but firm hug. He pulled away with tears in his eyes. “Have a safe flight, and take care, okay? I’m praying your coach pulls through.”

“Thank you,” Victor said again, more earnestly. Phichit left, the door closing with an ominous, echoing thud.

The workshop was lit only by the morning sun, long shadows snaking across the concrete floors. It would be the last time he’d see this place in a while, and Victor realized that he would miss it. This happy home, built by Yuuri and Phichit, had become a welcoming place to him in his short time in America. It had been a warm place for him to relax and enjoy himself, a comforting notion when he was so far from his own home. He hoped to come back sooner rather than later, but it would be a long time before he knew when.

Victor quietly ascended the stairs and padded across the apartment to the enclosed space that acted as a bedroom. Yuuri was sound asleep, curled on his side and drooling onto his pillow.

“’Tis a sin to wake a sleeping beauty,” Victor murmured quietly, speaking nonsense. “When the waking world is so harsh, how could I inflict such pain? But to see your eyes upon mine once more, I would be selfishly delighted. Perhaps a gentle waking is kinder. A gentle waking… with the gentlest touch a man can give…” His silly words trailed off as he bent over to kiss Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri’s face scrunched up, and his eyes popped open. He turned onto his back. “Victor?”

“It’s me,” Victor said as he straightened, his voice still quiet. “I need to leave soon.”

Yuuri hastily sat up and shoved his glasses on his face. “What happened? Is there any news?”

Victor shook his head. “No news. Which is better than bad news, but I’d prefer to know what’s going on.”

“You’ll tell me if anything changes, right?” Yuuri asked.

“As soon as I can.” Victor sat on the edge of the bed, and took Yuuri’s hands. “I want you to know that this isn’t the end for us. I might not be able to come back for a while, but…”

“Of course it isn’t the end,” Yuuri said. “I’ve known you were going to leave from the very beginning—that it’s happening sooner than we expected doesn’t change the fact that I’m prepared to wait. It will be kind of hard, since I got so used to seeing you almost every day, but we knew that was temporary from the start. I just wish I’d savored it a little more.”

Victor lifted Yuuri’s hands and pressed reverent kisses into his knuckles. “Me too. You’re so beautiful and precious to me, Yuuri. You know I’ll see you again.”

Yuuri flushed beet red, but he smiled. “I know. When do you need to leave?”

Victor put down Yuuri’s hands and sighed. “Soon. Will you come with me to the airport?”

Yuuri nodded and got out of bed. Victor only just now noticed the dark shadows under his eyes.

“Or, perhaps you should stay and rest,” Victor suggested weakly.

Yuuri gave him a hurt look. “No. I can rest later.”

“You really didn’t need to stay up and finish my costume. I would have been fine waiting for it.”

“It was almost done, anyway,” Yuuri said, yawning as he slipped into his shoes. “I was lucky I didn’t make too many mistakes that had to be redone. Did you… see it already?”

“Yes. It’s even more breathtaking than I could have imagined.”

Yuuri looked a little disappointed. “I wanted to show it to you myself,” he muttered. He grabbed his phone off the table and his keys from the hook by the door, and went downstairs into the workshop. Victor followed him, feeling a little dazed from his own lack of sleep.

“Will you be okay, carrying this onto the plane?” Yuuri asked. He was preparing a fancy box with tissue paper. “Normally it’s safe enough for shipping, but I like to let the glue cure more before moving it too much.”

Victor was so distracted watching Yuuri work he almost didn’t realize he was being asked a question. “Oh—yes, I can carry it on the plane. I love you.”

Yuuri’s hands stilled, and his eyes turned slowly upward to match Victor’s gaze. “What?”

Victor opened his mouth, but had trouble forming words. “I—” He swore under his breath. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Yuuri’s eyes lowered again, and he continued covering the folded costume with tissue paper, his hands working with professional grace. “Oh.”

Victor’s heart sank, and heat flooded to his cheeks. “I mean—I hadn’t meant to say it like _that._ I wasn’t really thinking, and it just… slipped out.”

“…Slipped out? Like it was a secret?”

“A true secret,” Victor admitted. “I’ve thought it for a while.”

Yuuri’s mouth tightened, his lips pressing together as he lowered the lid down onto the box. Victor couldn’t really read his expression, but he saw wetness in Yuuri’s eyes.

“I didn’t want to upset you by coming on too strongly,” Victor went on, unsure really what to say, but knowing he had to speak. He couldn’t take back his words. “I just… Lately, I think it every time I see you. Every moment we’re together.”

Yuuri unrolled a length of fat ribbon, cut it, wrapped it around the box, and used two pieces of tape to secure it. He pulled off a foil label sticker from another roll, and carefully affixed it to the corner of the box. It bore their simple, elegant, Euphoria Katsuki logo. He gave the box a long, assessing look, then walked around the table to Victor, eyes affixed to the floor.

Victor didn’t know what to expect. He was beginning to believe he’d severely messed up somehow, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Yuuri could hear it.

Yuuri met Victor’s eyes, snaked his hand behind Victor’s neck, and pulled him down into a firm kiss, his fingers clutching desperately at Victor’s hair. He pulled away just an inch, trembling breath hot on Victor’s face, tiny tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. “I never thought this would happen,” he said in a voice just barely above a whisper. “I never thought… but now…” He couldn’t seem to find the words.

“I love you, Yuuri,” Victor said again, putting his hands at Yuuri’s sides, staring down into those wide, beautiful eyes. “Leaving you will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. And—between you and me—I’ve done some pretty difficult things in my life.”

Yuuri’s lips curled into a smile. “Don’t let that ego inflate too much, now—I won’t be around for a while to fix it.”

Victor laughed and moved his hands to Yuuri’s face, pulling him into another, gentler kiss. Victor didn’t realize that he himself was crying until he felt stinging tears fall down his cheeks. “I will miss you. When I came here, I didn’t expect I’d find such a treasure. Meeting you has been one of the greatest joys of my life, and knowing that I’ll see you again is one of the only things keeping me together right now.”

Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor in a tight hug, Victor’s arms easily returning the embrace. Yuuri said nothing, but his body spoke his feelings clearly. There was desperation laced with comfort, longing tangled with love.

A buzz in Victor’s pocket was the only thing that could have forced them apart. Yuuri stood back, watching warily as Victor checked his phone. “Just a reminder that I need to leave,” Victor said, unsure if he was relieved or not. “Shall we go?”

Yuuri swallowed and nodded, picked up the box, and headed out the door with Victor close behind. He locked up the workshop, and they were on their way.

The car ride was mostly silent, Yuuri staring out the window with Victor’s costume in his lap. He hadn’t been willing to put it in the back with the rest of the luggage, claiming he didn’t trust it to not get crushed. He rested his hands across the box protectively, eyes distant in thought.

Victor really didn’t want to drive in silence the whole way there, but there was nothing he could think of to say that hadn’t already been said. When they ran into some minor traffic, though, a thought hit him.

“I meant to share this with you last night,” Victor said, attaching his phone to the stereo with a cable the car had come with. He pulled up his music player, and pressed play on the song already selected. Soft piano music filled the car. “I only got this yesterday morning. A friend of mine is composing the music for my Short Program, and she sent me the demo for my approval.” A woman began singing in French, a beautiful melody about longing and never quite getting things right. Victor kept quiet while the song played, letting Yuuri listen.

“She has a beautiful voice,” Yuuri said. “It sounds a little simple, though.”

“She’ll add her flourishes when I tell her how much I love it,” Victor said. “She’s a talented violin player, too, so I’m sure there will be some of that in the mix, when she’s finished.”

“What is she saying?”

“Oh, all kinds of things,” Victor said whimsically. “But the chorus is something like ‘I need someone to catch me, I keep falling short; there’s a cage of expectations around me, but my heart is a matchbox; open me, light me on fire, we’ll burn this world to the ground.’” He grimaced. “Well, that’s a rough way of putting it. It sounds much more poetic in French.”

“Do you… think it suits you?”

“Do you think it suits me?”

Victor glanced over at Yuuri just in time to see his flush. “I can’t—I don’t really know without knowing everything she says. But I think, just listening to melody and the way she sings it—I can easily see you skating to it. It’s kind of slow and a little jazzy—you’ve done a lot of different programs over the years, but I think this sort of song is your strong suit. It feels—personal. Not as performative, I think.”

Victor couldn’t help but smile. “That’s as strong of an endorsement as I could have hoped for. ‘Personal’ is very much what I was going for.”

“Will both your songs be like this?”

Victor let out a laugh. “You’re the fanboy; you tell me. Are my programs ever that similar?”

“I guess it was a silly question,” Yuuri said, laughing too.

The laughter between the two of them rang just a little false, both of them highly aware of what was about to happen.

“It’s a good song,” Yuuri said more soberly. “I look forward to watching you skate it.”

An idea popped into Victor’s head. “Would you come watch?”

“What?”

“If I invited you to the first competition—would you come? I don’t know yet when or where it will be, but when assignments come in… do you think you could come?” Victor felt his chest filling with hope, desperately wanting this to work. “I’ll pay for your travel,” he felt the need to add.

“It will partially depend on my schedule,” Yuuri said hesitantly. “But I—I would like to come. If you want me there.”

“I absolutely want you there,” Victor said emphatically. He finally pulled into the airport, the weight of everything settling in on him, but the prospect of Yuuri coming to watch him skate making him a little lighter.

He had Yuuri wait with his luggage at the gate while he returned his rental car. Yuuri helped him get most of it checked, save for the box with the costume, and a bag containing Victor’s laptop alongside his precious skates. When there was nothing left to do but go through security, Victor lingered a moment longer with Yuuri.

“That line looks pretty long,” Yuuri said, glancing warily over Victor’s shoulder. He was still holding the box.

“I won’t be late,” Victor assured him. He put his free hand at Yuuri’s side. “Will you take care of yourself while I’m gone? Eat properly and sleep reasonable hours?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Yuuri said sheepishly. “You have more important things to worry about.”

Victor almost argued, but realized it wasn’t the time nor place.

Yuuri handed over Victor’s box with both hands, presenting it like a gift. “I’ll—I’ll have the Queen done soon, and shipped over to you right away.”

“Take your time,” Victor said, accepting the box. “I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

“I—um…” Yuuri rubbed the back of his head, flushing furiously. “I need to say, before you leave, that—that Japanese people aren’t really the type to express feelings directly with words. It’s—it’s not something we’re the most comfortable with.”

Victor blinked in surprise, but smiled. “It’s okay, Yuuri. It’s not like I don’t know how you feel.”

Yuuri shook his head, eyes shining. “I’ve lived in America too long for this. I—I love you, Victor. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Please look after your coach, and know that I’m wishing all of you the best. Call me whenever you need. I’ll try to find good times to call you, too.”

Victor swallowed, choking up a little. “Alright. I look forward to it.”

Yuuri navigated around Victor’s burdens to wrap his arms tightly around Victor’s waist. “Goodbye Victor. We’ll see each other again.”

“Absolutely.”

Yuuri pulled away. “Now get through security before I really start to worry about you missing your flight.”

“Yes, sir,” Victor said, standing at attention. His face softened into a smile. “Goodbye, Yuuri. Take care.” It took an immense amount of effort to finally turn away and get in line. Every time Victor glanced back, he saw Yuuri there, ready to offer a small, sad smile when their eyes met. But when it came time for Victor to go through the scanner, he turned back, and saw Yuuri was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

Yuuri emerged from the automatic doors, looking lost.

Phichit had expected a sad Yuuri, but his chest ached at the desperate, lonely expression his friend wore. Yuuri looked like someone had flipped the lights out inside, leaving him a hollow shell of his previous self, lifeless and grey around the edges.

Phichit took a deep breath, and summoned his most cheerful smile. He had a feeling nothing would penetrate that cloud of gloom, but he absolutely had to try. “Yuuri!” he called, waving his arm to be noticed.

Yuuri looked up, confused. Phichit guessed right away that Victor hadn’t told him the plan. “Phichit?”

“You think I’d let you take a taxi back?” Phichit opened his arms as Yuuri approached. Yuuri gravitated to him like a magnet, and pressed his face into Phichit’s shoulder. “Let’s get you back home and back in bed.” Yuuri stayed where he was, breathing steadily against Phichit’s neck, clearly soaking in his comfort like a sponge. Phichit only continued to hold him, waiting until Yuuri was ready to speak or move or both.

When they finally pulled apart Yuuri walked in a dazed shuffle, and Phichit kept pace with him, even though it was far slower than he wanted to walk. Phichit wanted to _move,_ wanted to get past this part and back to more cuddling and crooning, but it was far more important that Yuuri didn’t feel rushed. Phichit had a feeling his friend’s recovery had no available shortcuts, save for Victor running back out of the airport to claim him. Phichit turned back and gave one last, barely hopeful look at the doors, just in case.

Once they were settled in the car, Phichit pulled up a playlist of songs he’d prepared just for this sort of occasion, and attached his phone to the stereo.

“Was there any word on Victor’s coach since I last saw him?” Phichit asked before pressing play.

“Nothing yet,” Yuuri said, his voice alarmingly dull and distant. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Me too,” Phichit said. “For Victor’s sake, at least. Can’t say I know much about his coach.”

“He’s been with Victor since the beginning of his career,” Yuuri said. “He’s probably like a father to him.”

“Did he talk much about him?” Phichit asked, jamming the play button and starting the ignition. He was glad Yuuri was talking, and wanted to keep him from withdrawing into himself for as long as possible.

“Not really. He mentioned a few small things, but he didn’t really talk about his life in Russia that much.”

“Did you ask?”

“Only a couple of times,” Yuuri said. “It didn’t feel like a comfortable subject for him. He didn’t mind talking about himself, but when it came to people he was close to, he never had much to say.”

_Good. Keep talking, Yuuri._ “You think that’s because he’s not really close to anyone, or just wants to keep that part of himself private?”

“Knowing what I know about him, probably a little of both,” Yuuri said with a sigh. “I wish we’d had more time.”

Phichit reached over and patted Yuuri’s thigh. They were finally pulling out of the airport. “You’ll have more time.”

“I hope so,” Yuuri said gloomily. Phichit glanced over to see Yuuri staring out the window.

“You will,” Phichit insisted. “I’ve never seen a man more in love. One way or another, you two will make it happen.”

“He… invited me to his first competition of the GPF. Said he’d pay for my travel so I could go see him.”

Phichit inwardly cringed. That seemed so long off for the two of them. “He can’t do any sooner than that?”

“Probably not, considering everything going on,” Yuuri said. “I don’t know if I should even go to that… I’ll probably just distract him.”

_Shit. Shit. Emergency. Turn it around._ “You’re his inspiration, Yuuri,” Phichit said, as if it were obvious. “Of course he wants you there. You should absolutely go.”

“I don’t think I’m his inspiration…” His voice sounded distant again.

“I would bet good money that you’ve inspired _something_ about his programs this season,” Phichit said.

Yuuri stopped arguing, going quiet as the playlist went to the next song. Phichit wasn’t sure if it was better to try forcing conversation, or to just let him listen to the music. Things had gone well enough so far—he decided not to push his luck with the talking.

It was a few more songs before Yuuri spoke again. “This music…”

Phichit smiled. “You caught me.”

“Is this… all of them? Did you track them all down yourself?”

“I cheated and copied the folder off of your laptop,” Phichit admitted. “Figured it might come in handy someday. Do you not want to listen?” He’d known it was a possibility that Yuuri would find it painful to listen to a playlist of all the songs Victor had ever skated to, but it seemed like a safer bet than silence.

“No, this is nice,” Yuuri said. “I can still picture his movements so clearly in my mind.”

Phichit stopped at a red light, and saw Yuuri had closed his eyes, his head leaning against the window. The morning light outside was so bright that it gave him a sort of melancholy halo—a perfect opportunity for a photo. Phichit discreetly snapped one before the traffic light changed.

He didn’t drive straight to the workshop, instead stopping at a diner to get breakfast. Phichit himself wasn’t all that hungry, but he knew that Yuuri was always happier with food in his belly, and neither of them had eaten in over twelve hours. Yuuri didn’t object, but sort of moved on autopilot, ordering his usual diner fare of French toast with berries as soon as the waiter came by.

Phichit was glad Yuuri could eat, though he wished he’d talk more about what was on his mind. He frankly had no idea how much Yuuri was hurting about all of this. An outside observer might believe he was taking it all rather well, but Phichit knew better than to assume as much. Yuuri kept things close, especially when he was hurting.

Phichit decided not to touch it just now. He kept his conversation one-sided and lighthearted, talking about how he was excited for, of all things, work. Phichit was glad to be working with Yuuri again, and though he’d never say so, he was a little glad to get to do so without Victor there. Not that Phichit hated Victor at all, but a part of him selfishly wanted Yuuri to himself again, just for a while longer. He had a feeling that, after this season, too many things would never be the same.

As Phichit was taking care of the check, Yuuri’s phone buzzed ominously. There was no other way for it to buzz right now, considering Victor was the only one who would text him, and the news had the potential to be really awful. Yuuri snatched up his phone immediately, and Phichit held his breath while he waited for the reaction.

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief, and Phichit did too, even without knowing what the message said. “What is it?”

Yuuri poked out a response. “His coach is awake. Still no details, but his rinkmate texted him as he was about to get on the plane.”

“He has to be relieved,” Phichit said, pulling out his own phone. “That flight probably got ten times more comfortable with that news alone.”

“Yeah…” Yuuri finished his response and put down his phone, then scraped up a bit of his leftover cream and berries, licking his fork clean. While he _did_ seem relieved, Phichit knew that relief wasn’t nearly enough to erase Yuuri’s hurt. His boyfriend was still going to be halfway across the world for an indeterminate amount of time.

Phichit thumbed out a text to Victor.

_just heard the news, glad he’s awake. hope everything goes well back home, and your flight goes smoothly. yuuri misses you already. i took this pic in the car on the way home. he’s listening to your music and thinking of your skating._

It wasn’t even a minute before Phichit received a reply.

_Thank you. The photo is very beautiful. I needed it._

Phichit bit his lip as he pushed out another text.

_im going to cuddle your boyfriend. is that ok?_

This reply took a little longer, but Victor didn’t seem to be deliberating very hard.

_Whatever helps him. I trust you, but more importantly, I trust him. I have to switch to airplane mode now. I’ll email Yuuri if I hear anything else. Thank you for always looking after him._

Phichit put down his phone and drained his dirt-flavored tea, frowning. He didn’t need to be _thanked_ for looking after Yuuri. He wasn’t doing it as a favor to anyone. He did it because he loved Yuuri, and he would continue to do it as long as Yuuri allowed him.

As long as Yuuri needed him, Phichit would be there.

When they got back to the workshop, Phichit steered Yuuri upstairs, not letting him get tempted into working. Yuuri didn’t put up much of a fight, which told Phichit that he _needed_ rest, more than usual.

“I’m sorry I’m such a wreck,” Yuuri said as he fell onto their bed.

“I will hear no apologies from you,” Phichit said, stripping off Yuuri’s socks. “You’re going to sleep as long as you want, and when you wake up, we’re going out to eat. Or staying in and ordering a pizza. Your choice.”

Yuuri mumbled incoherently into the pillow. Phichit patted him on the thigh. “Get under the covers. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Phichit begrudgingly put his phone in the kitchen, following Yuuri’s rule as he always did. As he plugged it in, though, he got a text from Guang-Hong, asking if he was coming to the gym today.

PC: _not today, sry. yuuri emergency._

GHJ: _Is he okay?_

PC: _for now. needs some tlc. i’ll let you guys know when i’m free again._

GHJ: _did victor breakup with him? rinkmate said the coordinator told him victor was leaving._

PC: _not a breakup. i’ll explain later._

GHJ: _don’t leave me hanging like that, loser_

PC: _with an attitude like that I’ll leave you as long as I want_

PC: _get your little ass to the gym._

GHJ: _my ass isn’t little_

PC: _everything about you is little_

GHJ: _you’re one to talk. last I checked I was taller than you._

PC: _unlike you I like being little. i’ll call you tonight._

GHJ: _k. hope yuuri feels better soon._

PC: _me too_

Phichit drew the curtains to block most of the light, and flopped onto his side of the bed. Yuuri wasn’t quite asleep, but seemed headed there, curled onto one side, facing the center of the bed. Phichit plucked Yuuri’s glasses off his face, gently teasing him as always about forgetting. When they were safely folded on the table, Phichit turned back, his hand reaching out to stroke Yuuri’s face.

“Do you need me right now?” he asked him.

Yuuri didn’t open his eyes, but he did open his arms, inviting Phichit to come closer. Phichit slid over, turning his back to Yuuri’s chest and nestling in the warmth of Yuuri’s arms.

Phichit would be lying if he said a part of him didn’t need this, too. To know that Yuuri needed him, at least for now, was good enough.

* * *

 

It was almost a week before Phichit felt comfortable leaving Yuuri alone for any extended period of time. Yuuri had put Victor’s Queen costume on temporary hold, though he wasn’t entirely forthcoming with the reasons why. He told Phichit it was so that they could work together again, but Phichit got the impression that wasn’t the whole answer. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Yuuri was feeling low on passion, but he didn’t push the subject.

Phichit instead worked to coordinate a video call between Victor and his pining boyfriend, hoping the two of them might reconnect and drain off some of the loneliness he knew they were both feeling. Yuuri wouldn’t do it himself, because he was getting it back into his head that he would be _bothering_ Victor, and Victor seemed to always be around people, making a private video call difficult during the hours Yuuri was awake. Phichit had finally managed to get them to arrange a late-night call for Yuuri, which would be early in the morning for Victor.

Phichit cleared out of the workshop to give Yuuri the utmost privacy, though he couldn’t deny that he was curious about Yuuri’s first ever video call. Would they have Skype sex? Phichit guessed they probably wouldn’t jump right into it, but with the right mood, Yuuri could be persuaded into it.

“So you think he’s feeling better, then?” Leo asked.

“Better in the relative, I guess,” Phichit said, examining his nails. He was leaning against Leo’s legs on the floor of Guang-Hong’s tiny apartment. “Maybe not in the absolute. He still gets all mopey if Victor hasn’t texted him that day.”

“I wish Victor would text _me_ every day,” Guang-Hong muttered, lounging against the pillows of his bed, his legs draped across Leo’s lap.

“Did you ever even say anything to him?” Phichit asked.

“No,” Guang-Hong said. “ _You_ told me not to!”

“I said don’t overdo it,” Phichit said. “He didn’t need another fanboy ogling him. But I bet you could have been his friend if you’d tried—he’s a surprisingly kind person.”

“I’m jealous you two got to spend so much time with him,” Leo said. “I can’t imagine. I was shaking just introducing myself to him.”

Phichit scrolled through Instagram as he kept one ear on the conversation. “In my case, it helped that he really only had eyes for Yuuri when he was around. Easier to be friendly when all his attention is on your shy roommate.”

Guang-Hong sighed. “Yuuri’s so lucky. When I saw the two of them at the rink that one time, I could tell just from watching that Victor really liked him. Usually he’s really serious during practice, but that day he was almost… goofy. He smiled a lot, too, and not in that ‘people are watching me’ fake way. Like he was actually happy.”

“Well, they _are_ in love,” Phichit said.

“Do I detect some bitterness, Mr. Roommate?” Leo teased.

Phichit hesitated. He could spill the beans and tell them both everything, but he was afraid all that serious talk would ruin the relaxed atmosphere. With nowhere to run if he ruined everything, he thought it better not to risk it. “No bitterness. I’m happy for him.” It was mostly the truth, after all.

“It feels like it all happened so fast,” Guang-Hong said wistfully. “And to _Yuuri_ , of all people.”

Phichit stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I didn’t expect someone who spends almost no time outside of his house to find love like that,” Guang-Hong said steadily. “Not that he doesn’t deserve it.”

Leo put a hand on Phichit’s shoulder, rubbing gently in a quietly consoling way. “It’s getting late. We should probably take off for the night.”

Guang-Hong yawned, as if to prove Leo’s point. “Alright. Phichit, you coming with me tomorrow morning?”

“I plan on it,” Phichit said, stiffly rising to his feet. His tailbone was sore from sitting on the floor so long. “I’ll text you if that changes.”

“You have work tomorrow, Leo?” Guang-Hong asked.

“A gig in the afternoon. Could run late, but I should be done by dinner.” Leo leaned over and kissed Guang-Hong swiftly. “I’ll text you when I’m done, if you want.”

“We’ll see. I might have dinner with my rinkmates.”

“Keep me posted,” Leo said, getting up. He put an arm around Phichit’s shoulders. “Ready to go?”

Phichit nodded, and waved to Guang-Hong. “See you in the morning.”

In Leo’s car, smooth music played quietly while Phichit kept his eyes on his phone, hoping to find something interesting on his social media feed. He didn’t really know what he was looking for, but everything felt so _boring_ today. How was he supposed to keep his mind off of Yuuri when nothing interesting was going on? There wasn’t even any drama to read.

Leo pulled into his driveway after a few minutes. It really was convenient how close Leo and Guang-Hong lived to one another, though sometimes Phichit wished the car rides were just a little longer. Leo gave Phichit an expectant look, and they went inside together.

“Should I pour some drinks?” Leo asked, flipping on the lights of his spacious house. Though Phichit was long used to it, when he’d first started visiting, he had trouble feeling comfortable in Leo’s house. It was so big, every surface gleaming like it had just been cleaned, the furniture stylish to the point of seeming cold and uncomfortable.

It wasn’t until they’d had sex on just about every surface that Phichit had felt some familiarity and ownership of the place.

“Yeah, sure,” Phichit said indifferently, phone still in hand as he took a seat at the bar in Leo’s “living room”. It was more like a party room, for how often it was used for that purpose.

Leo poured Amaretto sours for them both, one of the few drinks they both liked. He slid the glass in front of Phichit. “What’s on your mind, love?”

“What? Nothing.”

Leo walked around the bar and slid into the seat next to Phichit. “I know it’s not nothing. It hasn’t been nothing for a while. Are you ever going to tell us what’s bothering you, or are you just going to keep brushing us off like we don’t notice?”

Phichit finally put down his phone, giving Leo an incredulous look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Leo took his opportunity to snatch the phone off the bar, sliding it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Phichit felt a twinge of annoyance, but didn’t fight. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Leo said, his tone light with an undercurrent of sternness. “You’ve been weird lately. Whatever it is, you can’t seem to talk about it with the two of us, so I was hoping, maybe, you might talk to me alone.”

Phichit gave him a dull look. “Nothing’s going on, and I’m not weird. It’s just been crazy lately, what with Victor suddenly having to leave, and—”

“It’s been going on since before he left,” Leo said. “You’ve been distant. You’ve been moody. Weirdest of all, you’ve been clingy. You chewed me out for monopolizing so much of your time, then when I gave you space, you seemed to hate it. You got pissy at me for going on a date with Guang-Hong alone—don’t argue with me, I _noticed._ You’ve also seemed to make Yuuri your personal project, which—I get it, he’s your friend and your boss, but—”

“Yuuri is not my _boss,_ ” Phichit said sharply. “We’re partners.”

“He pays you like an employee, he’s your boss,” Leo said simply. “But that’s beside the point. You keep treating me and Guang-Hong like furniture, only coming to us when you need a place to crash. I’d measure about 80% of the talking you do is about Yuuri or Victor or both, and that’s only when we actually pry your attention away from your phone enough to get you to say something substantial. So, in my expert opinion, I think yes, _something is wrong with you._ We’ve been holding out talking about it because we assumed you’d just come to us when you were ready, but now I’m starting to think you’re keeping it from us on purpose. And after all we’ve been through… that kinda hurts.”

Phichit felt cornered, his head boiling with furious embarrassment. “So what, you thought you’d take me back to your lair and ply me with drinks in hopes I might spill out all my secrets?”

“Um, no,” Leo said, tapping Phichit’s glass. “That plan would have only worked if I’d talked to you after you’d had something to drink. You can throw it in my face if you want, but it won’t change the fact that I’m worried about you. Guang-Hong is, too.”

Phichit recoiled. “So you guys are talking about me behind my back, now?”

Leo put a firm hand on Phichit’s shoulder, dark eyes shining with concern. “You’re not listening to me. We’re _worried_ about you. I feel like something’s hurting you and for some reason, you’re not talking about it. It feels like you don’t trust us anymore.”

The hurt in Leo’s voice broke something inside Phichit, his defenses falling a little. “It’s not that I don’t trust you…”

“Then what is it?” Leo urged.

“It’s that…” Phichit let out a long exhale. “It’s hard to talk about this stuff with you. This feels like the first really serious conversation we’ve had since Guang-Hong’s injury. I never want to bring up this kind of stuff because I like being relaxed around you guys. I don’t want to mess up your life with my stupid, fake problems.”

“I don’t know how you decided your problems are stupid or fake, but you know we don’t mind hearing them. How often does Guang-Hong bitch about his rinkmates? How often do I bitch about work?”

Phichit waved his hand dismissively. “Those are different problems. Mine aren’t real.”

“They have to be if they’re making you feel and act like this,” Leo said gently. “Tell us—or at the very least, tell me. It can stay just between us, if you want.”

Phichit frowned. “I’m not going to ask you to keep secrets from Guang-Hong.”

“I would if it meant I could help you,” Leo said soberly.

“There’s no way you’re saying I’m more important than him,” Phichit said incredulously. “I’m not going to believe it.”

Leo turned away, frustration etching his normally calm, friendly face. “I’m _not_ saying that. But right now, I’m more worried about you than I am about him. He would understand if I had to keep a secret.”

“I’m not asking you to keep a secret,” Phichit said, softening. “I couldn’t do that, to either of you. It doesn’t matter if he knows or not.” He looked down at his drink, fingers sliding along the glass. “It’s so much stuff, I don’t even know where to begin.”

“We’ve got all night,” Leo said, tapping his glass to Phichit’s with a satisfying clink. “Talk to me, love. If it helps, I can go back on the other side and pretend I’m a bartender.”

Phichit smiled despite himself. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“I’d spend twelve more hours standing if it got you to talk to me.”

Phichit shook his head, picked up his glass, and took a generous swallow. He stood. “Couch. I need your arms for this.”

Leo also took a gulp of his drink, and they abandoned their glasses on the bar, going to the white couch nestled in a corner, facing Leo’s absurd fish tank filled with all sorts of colorful saltwater fish. Leo settled into the corner while Phichit toed off his shoes and lounged, putting his back to Leo’s chest. Leo’s warm, strong arms encircled him, and Phichit felt some of his nerves drain away. For a moment he said nothing, drinking in the quiet while he gathered his thoughts, Leo waiting patiently, as he always did.

“If there’s anything about all of this that makes sense, it’s that I care way too much about Yuuri,” Phichit began softly.

“You care ‘too much’?”

“Well, it depends on who you ask, I guess,” Phichit said. “I think I care too much about him. At least, more than should be appropriate for our relationship.”

“How is it more?”

“I’m not his boyfriend, but sometimes I treat him as if we were…” Phichit trailed off, unsure exactly how to put it. “As if we were more than the friends we are now. I care a lot about him. About as much as I care about the two of you, if I’m honest. If I’m _really_ honest, sometimes I care even more, because I feel like he needs more care than either of you.”

“So you care a lot about him,” Leo simplified. “I don’t think that’s anything we’d be surprised about.”

“It’s just…” Phichit bit his lip. “All this energy goes into caring for Yuuri, and it feels like it’s wrong, somehow. I shouldn’t be caring this much about him when I know that I’ll never be the one he loves.”

“Is that the problem, then?” Leo asked steadily. “That you want him to love you?”

“I didn’t think I did,” Phichit said. “I don’t think I wanted it until after he fell in love with Victor, which doesn’t make any sense when I say it out loud, but apparently made perfect sense to my heart. I didn’t know Yuuri could love someone like that, and knowing what he’s like when he’s in love, I wanted that, too. But it’s wanting something I’ll never have. Yuuri isn’t for me. And even though I know this, I can’t just turn off the way I feel about it. But then, I don’t even know if it’s _Yuuri_ I want, or just the sort of thing he has with Victor.”

“What, their crazy romance?”

“They’re seriously, genuinely in love with each other,” Phichit said emphatically. “It happened so quickly that I didn’t think it would last, but it’s honestly the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t even be bitterly jealous about it, because I would feel too awful about staining their relationship. But since I can’t be jealous, I’m just… sad. I used to be happy with things the way they were. But the happier he gets, the sadder I feel, and it’s not fair to him at all.  And it especially sucks, because I _want_ him to be happy.”

Leo gave him a brief squeeze. “What do you think might make you happy, aside from Yuuri falling in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Phichit said. He was trying his hardest not to cry, but emotion showed through his voice, anyway. “And see, that’s why my problems are stupid and fake. They don’t make sense, and there’s no way to fix them.”

“Shh,” Leo crooned, placing a gentle kiss on Phichit’s cheek. “They’re not stupid, and they’re not fake. This is clearly something that’s been bothering you.”

Phichit sniffed. “It shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t bother me at all. I should be happy for him. A good friend would just be happy for him.” Heavy tears leaked out of his eyes. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Leo shifted in his seat, pulling Phichit even closer, holding him tighter.

“I just—I can’t hate Victor,” Phichit went on, letting his heart finally bleed open completely. “I can’t. If he were mean or cruel or entitled, it would be so easy. I could hate him, and I could warn Yuuri away from him. But he’s not. He’s like Yuuri. He’s scared and vulnerable and just wants to do the right thing. He only wants to love Yuuri, and I can’t fault him for that. They’re so good together, Leo. They’re so good, and it’s not _fair.”_ He openly sobbed now, clinging to Leo’s arms, wishing the pain would go away. His breath trembled as his voice came out in a shallow squeak. “But he deserves it. Yuuri deserves it. I just hate I can’t be the one to give it to him.”

 Any other words Phichit might’ve choked out were swallowed in his sobbing fit, so he gave up and turned around to bury his face in Leo’s chest. Leo just held steady, rubbing Phichit’s back with warm, solid strokes, patiently waiting for him to calm down.

“I’m horrible,” Phichit said in a watery voice muffled by Leo’s shirt. “I’m the worst friend.”

“You’re not,” Leo said gently.

“I am. I shouldn’t feel this way. Not because he’s found someone. Not because he’s happy.”

“A bad friend would be trying to break them apart for selfish reasons,” Leo said. “Instead, you keep trying to make it easier for them to be together.”

“I want him to be happy,” Phichit said helplessly. “Yuuri’s so beautiful when he’s happy.”

Leo planted a kiss in Phichit’s hair. “Then take pride in the fact that you helped him get there. You’re not a bad friend. You’re probably the best friend he could have.”

“A better friend wouldn’t be this upset.”

“You’re only this upset because you care so much,” Leo said, his voice full of warmth. “You love him, and you’ve done nothing wrong. Do you want to know what I think?”

Phichit lifted up with a pathetic sniff. “No. Your opinions never make me feel better.” He smiled, laughing a little. “What do you think?”

Leo cupped Phichit’s face, wiping away some of the tears with his thumb. “I think you’ve put Yuuri first for too long. You’ve bent over backwards worrying about him and his life for months now, and you’re running out of energy. When was the last time you let someone take care of _you_?”

“I don’t need that,” Phichit said. “I’m fine.”

Leo chuckled. “You are so far from fine I don’t think you know what ‘fine’ means, anymore.”

“I—” Phichit wanted to argue, but he was all out of fight. Crying had left him drained.

“You and I should take a day together,” Leo suggested. “A weekend, if you can spare it. We’ll go someplace nice, and you’ll let me take care of you. A nice hotel, massages, a spa treatment, dinner, dancing—the works.”

“I don’t _need_ you to throw your money in my face, Leo,” Phichit spat. He immediately regretted it when he saw the hurt in Leo’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant, and it’s okay,” Leo said. “I know how you feel about my money. But you should know I’m not trying to buy you happiness. I’m trying to use whatever means I have to help you relax. If you have any less expensive ideas, I’m all ears, but I think you could stand to be pampered for a couple of days. Get some of your energy back, so you can go back to being Yuuri’s mother hen.”

“I’m not his mother hen,” Phichit muttered. “Is this what you’ve been doing for Guang-Hong lately? Taking him out on fancy dates to make him feel better?”

To Phichit’s surprise, Leo flushed. “N-no. Not to make him feel better. We were… trying something.”

Phichit pulled away, cocking an eyebrow suspiciously. “Trying something? Don’t tell me you two are… actually dating?” The thought of it sent a pulse of cold dread through Phichit’s chest, the fear of being abandoned rising up so quickly it hurt. He didn’t need more of these heavy emotions. Not now. Not when he was already this raw.

Leo’s eyes widened, clearly seeing something in Phichit’s expression that scared him. “We _tried,_ but it didn’t work,” he said hastily. “Every time, we just ended up talking about how it wasn’t any fun without you around. We also didn’t want to risk pushing you away, even if at the time you seemed determined to make your life revolve around Yuuri.”

This time, Phichit couldn’t fight the rising guilt he felt at neglecting his friends. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realize…”

“Hey, hey, don’t look like that,” Leo soothed. “We understood, even if things felt a little rough for a while.”

Phichit wiped at his eyes, praying he wouldn’t cry again. “So, your… experiment. What brought that on?”

“Are you sure you want to talk about this now?” Leo asked.

Phichit wasn’t sure, actually. He felt so emotionally drained he didn’t think he could handle much more tonight. “Maybe not. Maybe I should just go to bed.”

“That sounds like a good plan. I’d rather Guang-Hong be here for that conversation, anyway. You staying here, or should I send you home?”

“I’ll stay here,” Phichit said, stiffly rising from the couch and stretching. “I don’t want to risk interrupting Yuuri’s call.”

Leo got up, and swept Phichit into his arms, carrying him like a princess. “Guest bedroom, or mine?”

“If you think you’re getting out of cuddling after making me spill my guts, think again.” Phichit nuzzled Leo’s neck. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Leo said, and began his ascent up the wide staircase of his house. It really wasn’t fair how effortlessly he could carry Phichit, but Phichit was never going to complain about it. He always felt safe in Leo’s arms. Cherished. Protected.

Leo put Phichit down gently onto the bed, which was something of a surprise—usually Leo liked to toss Phichit down, eliciting squeals and giggles from him. But that was often a precursor to sex, part of their foreplay, and sex really wasn’t on the table tonight.

Leo went to the drawer that was designated for specifically Phichit’s things, and tossed Phichit a soft shirt he liked to sleep in.

“Are you going to be okay?” Leo asked, sitting beside Phichit.

“I think so,” Phichit said, looking down at the shirt in his arms. It was one of Leo’s, old and grey and far too big for Phichit, but it was one of his favorites. “I guess I still don’t know how to make sense of it all, but getting it out in the open does make me feel a little better.”

Leo touched Phichit’s arm. “I wish you’d talked to us sooner.”

Phichit shook his head. “I didn’t know how. I still don’t, really. I don’t know exactly what I want, but I know I want _something,_ and there’s a good chance I can’t have it.”

“Any chance I can tempt you with that weekend away?”

Phichit tugged off his shirt and replaced it with the soft one. It smelled like Leo’s drawers, cedar and clean linen. “Talk to me again after we’ve talked about you and Guang-Hong dating. And maybe invite him, too? If he can spare the time.”

Leo smiled. “That’s fair.”

* * *

 

Phichit felt overall a little better by the time he saw Yuuri again the next afternoon. He’d ended up giving Guang-Hong a less emotional version of everything he’d told Leo the night before, and by the end of his rant, Phichit felt like he might’ve gotten a better grasp of how he was feeling. At any rate, it was easier to put on a smile for Yuuri, which he quickly gathered would be necessary today.

“What’s wrong, Yuuri?” As soon as Phichit had walked into the workshop, he felt tension in the air. Yuuri sat at his desk, staring blankly at his sketchbook, pencil poised loosely in his hand. Behind him was the dress form holding the unfinished Queen costume.

At first Yuuri didn’t say anything. Phichit had to approach him and ask a few times before Yuuri even acknowledged his presence. “It’s not right,” he said quietly.

Phichit glanced at the costume, then back at Yuuri’s sketchbook, frowning. “What’s not right?”

“The collar,” Yuuri said. “It’s not right.”

“What’s not right about it?”

Yuuri slammed his fists onto the desk. “ _It’s not right!”_

_Shit._ Phichit had never seen Yuuri quite like this. He took a good look at Yuuri’s face, and almost recoiled. “Yuuri, did you sleep at all?”

“No,” Yuuri muttered. “Couldn’t.” He started sketching, and Phichit grabbed his arm.

“Stop, Yuuri,” Phichit said. Yuuri wrenched out of his grasp and kept going. “What’s gotten into you?”

Yuuri didn’t respond. Phichit decided on a different approach.

“How did your call go last night?”

“It was good.”

Phichit hoped for more details, but knew better than to expect them. “Come upstairs and talk about it with me,” he suggested. “I’ll make tea.”

“Once I’ve fixed this.”

Phichit sighed, and pulled on Yuuri’s other arm. “Yuuri, you’re not going to be happy with anything you do right now. You’re empty. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten anything since last night.”

Yuuri ignored Phichit entirely, continuing his loose sketching, making the same lines over and over. He growled in frustration and scribbled all over the page, and hurled his pencil across the workshop. “I can’t do this.”

“Shh, yes you can,” Phichit soothed. “Just not right now. I promise, we’ll figure it out after you’ve rested.” He pulled Yuuri up out of his chair. “Come on.”

Yuuri gave a token amount of resistance, but once Phichit had him on his feet, he let himself be supported. Phichit skipped the tea and took Yuuri straight to bed, removing his shoes and glasses and tucking him under the covers before sitting beside him. He gave Yuuri’s hair long, soft strokes.

“What happened during your call?” Phichit asked, keeping his voice light and quiet.

“I was so pathetic,” Yuuri said, eyes closed. “I started crying maybe five minutes in. It’s hardly been a week, but just seeing him again, seeing his face as he spoke to me, I…” He sighed. “I was such a mess. But I guess the call went well overall. He seemed a little stressed, but wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Did you do anything…fun?” Phichit asked suggestively.

“Not this time,” Yuuri said. “The mood didn’t feel right for it. There was a hint about next time, but I don’t know… When he had to go to practice, I tried to sleep, but I had too much nervous energy, so I went to work on his costume. But then I found the problem with the collar, and, well… You saw.”

Phichit was glad Yuuri seemed more relaxed, but he never stopped stroking his hair. “Can you explain to me what the problem is?”

“My pattern doesn’t work. It didn’t leave enough space open for the feathers. As it is now, they’ll be tickling his neck and getting in the way. I tried a few things to fix it, but nothing looked right.”

“We’ll look at it later,” Phichit promised. “Feathers are tricky, but I’ll bet we can come up with a way to do it where they won’t get in the way.”

“I’ll bet you can fix it,” Yuuri said drowsily. “You’re good with feathers. You’re good with everything.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet when you’re delirious,” Phichit said.

Yuuri gave a quiet laugh, and settled more comfortably on the pillow with a soft exhale. “Sorry I’m such a handful.”

Phichit sighed. “You just can’t be trusted by yourself, can you?”

“I guess not,” Yuuri mumbled, and he seemed to sink into the pillow, his breathing even and deep.

_Am I crazy for thinking you might need me?_ The thought made Phichit ache. He finally stopped stroking Yuuri’s hair, and tucked the blanket up to Yuuri’s chin.


	17. Chapter 17

Victor Nikiforov had changed.

At first Yuri attributed it to panic. When Victor rushed into the hospital room, he wore an expression Yuri had never seen on him before.

Worried.

Intensely, painfully worried.

Victor was never worried about anything, at least not visibly. He was either annoyingly optimistic or frustratingly confident, neither of which endeared him to Yuri. He was neither someone to seek advice from nor someone to open up to, except in specific, professional circumstances.

With an expression like that, though, he looked almost human.

By that point they had already known Yakov’s prognosis, and everyone had breathed a heavy, exhausted sigh of relief. To have Victor come in and echo what everyone else was feeling twenty hours ago was jarring, and made Yuri inexplicably nervous.

He needed to go back to bed and make up for all the sleep he’d lost, considering he’d only managed about 3 hours over the past two days, but instead he was here again, visiting Yakov with Lilia. He sat off to the side, watching as Lilia explained to Victor everything that had happened.

“It was a minor stroke,” Lilia said. “No lasting effects, but a clear warning that some lifestyle changes need to be made.”

“I’m not changing anything,” Yakov grumbled.

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Lilia said sternly.

Victor asked a million questions about what happened, slowly unraveling his worry and spinning it into general concern. After an hour he was smiling again, finding amusement in saying things that irritated Yakov.

That was normal, but Yuri still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different, even if he couldn’t articulate what it was. But he was tired, and Victor looked like he’d slept as much as Yuri did, so perhaps everyone was just a little off. That was to be expected.

His coaches had already hinted that Yuri was to return to practice tomorrow, so he hoped they could leave soon. Lilia, though, seemed reluctant to leave Yakov, and Victor was taking his time talking about… what were they even talking about? Yuri had stopped paying attention. Something about his stupid trip to America, it seemed.

Yuri found it immensely difficult to care. But he behaved, staring at his phone until it gave him nothing new, then closing his eyes and trying to doze. Unfortunately, as he’d discovered multiple times over the past two days, hospitals made him far too uncomfortable to sleep. The atmosphere, the noise, the smell—he hated all of it. He couldn’t rest there.

Finally the nurse came in to shoo them out, needing to administer medication that would make it easier for Yakov to sleep. Victor promised he’d return tomorrow, and Yuri was finally free.

Or so he thought.

“I have some calls I need to make before we leave,” Lilia told him, pulling out her phone in the waiting room.

“Can’t you make the calls at home?” Yuri complained. “I want to leave.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” she said, and put the phone to her ear, immediately starting to talk as if she were in the middle of a conversation.

Yuri groaned and fell hard into a seat.

“You can ride with me,” Victor offered. He was sending a text to someone, and by the time spent on it, it was a detailed one.

Yuri thought about declining. He didn’t particularly want to share a car with Victor, especially not for the twenty-five minutes it would take to get back, but between that and waiting for Lilia, the former was far more appealing. Everything about him was screaming that he needed to leave, needed to get out of this place, and enduring a car ride with Victor was worth not having to wait any longer in this hellscape.

 “Fine,” he said, getting up and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Whatever’s faster.”

Victor finished his text and put away his phone. He gave Lilia a touch on her shoulder in a silent goodbye, and let Yuri shadow him all the way down the elevator into the parking garage. He didn’t speak until they were both inside the car.

“Are you hungry?” Victor asked.

“Just take me home,” Yuri said, turning his whole body towards the window.

“Are you sure? I can’t imagine you’ve had a decent meal these past couple of days.” Victor carefully drove out of the parking lot, checking every turn multiple times. Yuri always hated how he drove like a grandma. Even Lilia was less careful.

“I’m not hungry,” Yuri lied. He already planned to go home and heat up whatever he could find in the fridge, because he _was_ starving. He just didn’t want to eat with Victor.

Then his stomach growled. Loudly. There was no way Victor couldn’t hear it.

“Your stomach betrays you,” Victor said cheerfully. “Let me get you some food on the way home. It’s not out of the way.”

Yuri didn’t care if it was out of the way or not; he only wanted to get out of this situation. But the more he became aware of his hunger, the less he hated the idea of Victor buying him fresh, warm food. He chose not to complain. “Whatever.”

Victor ended up driving to a nearby bakery. The onslaught of smells almost killed Yuri as he walked in. After spending so much time in the sterile-smelling hospital, this place smelled like actual heaven.

“Get whatever you like,” Victor said.

“Lilia doesn’t want me eating this,” Yuri felt the need to say. He’d been on a relatively strict diet for weeks now, trying to keep his body in top form.

Victor winked. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Gross.

But Yuri couldn’t resist the temptation to buy piroshky on a normal day, so there was clearly no hope for him today. It wouldn’t be as good as what his grandfather made, but he had trouble caring when he was this hungry, happily suffocating under the smell of fresh bread. He chose three piroshky, and, to see if he could get away with it, a small apple pie. Victor paid without complaint.

“You can eat in the car,” Victor said once they’d left. “Unless you get carsick.”

“Who could get carsick when you drive like an old woman?” Yuri spat.

Victor chuckled and had a weird smile on his face as he pulled out of the parking lot. Yuri braced himself for the inevitable conversation he knew would accompany the food, but it didn’t happen. Victor seemed content with his own thoughts, and when they got to Lilia’s, he didn’t even turn the car off.

“Take care, Yuri. See you at the rink tomorrow.”

Yuri stared, trying to figure out the catch, the trick, the tease. He couldn’t find one. “Thanks for the food,” he mumbled, and closed the car door. He watched him drive away for a moment before going inside, feeling like something was definitely wrong with Victor.

The next day they hardly made eye contact, and said maybe two words to one another. Which was for the best, as Lilia had been relentless in trying to make up for the lost days, and Yuri felt like someone had run him through a meat grinder. She had put him through a full training day, starting with stretches and ballet at her studio and planning to end it with strength training and cardio, with the actual ice skating sandwiched in between. Yuri wanted to die before he’d even touched the ice, and without Yakov there to release his anger to, it was a special kind of torture.

And at the end of it all, it somehow got worse.

“We need to discuss your future,” Lilia said that night, after calling Yuri into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Yuri hated tea. He always associated it with uncomfortable conversations.

Yuri sat down warily. “What about it?”

She pressed her lips together. Something in her eyes looked sad, a rare feature in his teacher but all too common the past few days. “As soon as Yakov is able, he’ll return to coaching you. But we made the decision that this will be his final season. And, unless something drastic changes, it will be mine as well.”

Yuri’s eyes fixated on the table as that information sank in. He had no idea how to process it, no idea what to say. “But you’re fine,” he said weakly.

“For now,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have taken better care of myself than Yakov has, but neither of us are young, as you have reminded us many times over the years. Don’t think I never heard your muttered insults.”

It stung, for her to throw that back in his face now. “What am I supposed to do after this season, then? You two have been the only coaches I’ve ever had.”

Her face softened. “There are many options open for someone with a career like yours. Top level coaches around the globe would be delighted to work with you. I can give you a list of recommendations if you’re uncertain where to begin, but I think the best research you can do for yourself is to talk to other skaters. Currently active coaches will be better for you, since they’re more familiar with trends and recent rule changes.”

Yuri could think of no worse assignment than talking to other skaters. He didn’t _want_ to talk to people. He didn’t _want_ a new coach. He didn’t _want_ to have to think about this all season when he should be focusing on his performances.

Lilia nudged his teacup closer to him, urging him to drink. “I know you don’t like this, but you need to be thinking about it, Yura. It’s not a decision to be made at the last minute. I’ll help you in whatever way I can, but ultimately, the decision needs to be yours. You’re not a child any longer.”

It was funny, because Yuri had never felt _more_ like a child than listening to the careful way Lilia spoke to him then.

He didn’t complain, and he didn’t get angry—at least not outwardly—but nor did he really say much at all. He couldn’t imagine having a different coach. Lilia and Yakov were brutal, yes, but they’d pushed him to his limits and made his talents blossom. Would any other coach be able to compare? Yuri didn’t know any other coaches. He’d heard a little about Otabek’s coach, but she didn’t seem like the type of person Yuri would thrive under. Everything Otabek had said made her sound too nice.

Yuri went to bed that night in an awful mood, compounded by the fact that, on top of his new problem, he still had to worry about whether or not he would continue his education, and where he would go if he did. Lilia said having two transitions at the same time allowed him more freedom to choose his path, but it felt like too much. He had no idea what he wanted. He didn’t want things to change.

And his headache only grew worse, the more Yuri watched _him._

When enough days had passed for Yuri to be sure that _something_ had changed with Victor after his trip to America, he found himself begrudgingly curious as to what it was. Victor constantly looked at his phone, often smiling as he tapped out a text during breaks. Some moments Yuri caught him looking deep in thought, distant and oblivious to everything around him.

He was polite. He was focused. He seemed determined in a way Yuri hadn’t seen in a few years, and that determination pushed him farther away from the people around him. Victor had never been particularly sociable, but now it seemed like half of his mind was in an entirely different world.

It was annoying.

“He’s in love,” Mila said, after Yuri complained about it in the break room at lunch. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Was it? Yuri had no idea. “I haven’t seen him with anyone.”

Mila gave him a blank stare. “You can’t put two and two together? He obviously met someone in America. Yakov said it was that costume designer he went to meet with.”

Costume designer? Yuri vaguely remembered something about a costume catalog, but it had been in the midst of Otabek’s visit, so he hadn’t thought too hard about it at the time. “Was that why he went back the second time?”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Mila said. “You’d have to ask him.”

Yuri would rather die. “He wasn’t even gone all that long. How could he be in love?”

“Sometimes, it doesn’t take long,” Mila said. “He’s probably hurting, too, since his visit got cut short.”

“He didn’t need to be in America, anyway,” Yuri muttered, fidgeting with his fork. “He needs to be practicing.”

Mila laughed. “Harsh. Would you want someone telling you that if one of your visits with Otabek got cut short?”

“It’s not—he’s not—” Yuri spluttered. “It’s not the same!”

“Sure it’s not,” Mila said with an annoyingly smug smile. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Yuri scrunched his face up in annoyance. “How he looks at me is none of your business. And how did we get on this subject? We were talking about Victor and how he—”

“Did someone call me?” Victor asked, peeking around the corner.

Yuri’s head felt like it would boil over. “No one’s asking for you. Don’t be so full of yourself.”

Victor frowned. “Oh. I thought I heard my name.”

“You did,” Mila said. “Yuri was asking about you.”

Yuri glared at her. “I wasn’t!”

Victor came in, taking a seat next to Mila. “Asking about what?”

Feeling cornered, Yuri scrambled to think of some other explanation. “I—I was wondering if you chose your music for your programs, yet. I don’t want a repeat of last year.”

Victor put a finger to his chin in that annoying gesture Yuri hated. “Last year? Oh, you mean when we ended up almost choosing the same song? Don’t worry about that. One of my songs is original, and the other… well, I have a hard time believing you’d choose it.” His smile was teasing, setting Yuri on edge.

“Good.” Yuri got up and left before Mila could say anything else, though he had the sinking suspicion Mila would tell Victor everything once they were alone.

Whatever. Yuri didn’t need to waste his energy thinking about Victor, not when he had his future and his career to worry about. Victor was retiring soon. He could do what he wanted with his life.

Retiring… Yuri shook his head, not letting his mind go down that path.

* * *

 

After another exhausting practice, Yuri went to the locker room to change.

“Yuuuuuri.”

Yuri stopped cold in the doorway. Victor’s voice, saying his name in a tone that dripped with affection, gave him a sudden sick feeling in his stomach. Ready to yell at him for being so gross, Yuri stomped inside, but Victor kept talking, facing away from Yuri.

“You should go eat some breakfast. No, I didn’t forget. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Victor was speaking English, his voice light and… happy? Was that what Yuri was hearing? Who was he talking to? Who else was named Yuri?

“Are you working with Phichit today? …No, I don’t really need it right away. If it’s giving you trouble, you can take a break from it… Oh? You did? I hope it works out.” Victor laughed in a way Yuri had never heard before. He sounded… younger, somehow. Carefree. “I told you, I trust your judgment. I’m sorry it’s giving you so much trouble.”

Afraid he might be spotted as soon as Victor turned around, Yuri stealthily ducked behind the row of lockers, just out of sight. He couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he wanted to continue eavesdropping on Victor’s conversation, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“I miss you too.” Victor’s voice had gone quieter, taking on a softer tone. “Every day, Yuuri. This is so much harder than I thought it would be.” He paused, and Yuri could just barely hear the mumble of voice on the other end. “I know. Take care of yourself, alright? I rest better when I know you’re eating well. …Okay. You too. I love you, Yuuri. I’ll call you after I get home.”

When it was clear Victor had ended his call, Yuri made a show of yawning and grumbling before walking into Victor’s view. Victor largely ignored him, his eyes looking a million miles away as he laced up his shoes.

_I love you, Yuuri,_ he’d said. Yuri knew Victor wasn’t talking about him, hadn’t said it to him, hadn’t even meant for him to hear it, but the words echoed annoyingly in his head anyway. Yuri blamed it on the tense silence. “Do you know when Yakov is coming back?” he asked in an attempt to get his mind away from that phone call.

“Did Lilia not say? He’s getting discharged tomorrow, barring anything serious. As for when he’ll return to work, I have a feeling that will be whenever Lilia allows it. But at least you’ll have him on tap to answer your questions. I can tell it’s bothering you that he’s retiring.”

Yuri opened his mouth to protest, but he really had no argument. And for once, he didn’t _want_ to argue with Victor. The mood didn’t feel right for it. “Do you… happen to know any coaches I should look at?”

“I’m sorry to say I don’t,” Victor said as he stood, looking oddly sincere. “I can’t say I’ve made many close friends to ask, either. Try not to get too discouraged, though—even if it takes time to find someone you like, that time searching isn’t wasted. Better to get it right than go with what’s easiest.”

“Easy to say when you’ve had the same coach your entire career,” Yuri muttered bitterly.

Victor gave a sad smile. “I know it’s unfair to you. Replacing Yakov won’t be easy, especially when you’re so used to his ways. Not many coaches can match his legacy, and no one could match his special brand of encouragement.” He put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “But you’ll find someone you like—someone worthy of your talents. I’m sure of it.”

Yuri shrugged him off, and pulled his hair out of its tie, intending to neaten it up. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because no one as stubborn as you would settle for less.” Victor roughed up Yuri’s hair, shouldered his bag, and left the locker room.

* * *

 

Just a few days after Yakov was discharged from the hospital, a press conference was scheduled. Some reporters inquired about the rumors regarding Yakov’s health, but mostly, it was about Victor’s retirement. Yuri had honestly forgotten that Victor hadn’t told the public yet, considering their team had known about it for well over a month now. Yuri watched as Victor assured the press that no, Yakov’s health wasn’t a factor, that this decision had been made long in advance after a lot of consideration and planning.

“I’m tired,” Victor said, putting on that stupid fake smile that seemed to so easily charm the press. “I’m putting everything I have in this final season, but I think it’s time I stepped out of the competitions. I’ve dedicated over two decades of my life to this sport, and as much as I love it, I need a rest. I owe it to my body after pushing so hard it all this time.”

This, of course, brought on a predicable flurry of questions about _Victor’s_ health, and he took time to assure them that he was perfectly fine, joking that the only unhealthy part of him was his ever-increasing age.

Eventually questions turned to what Victor planned after his retirement, and Yuri started listening with interest. So far, Victor hadn’t said anything to anyone, even Yakov, about what he intended to do.

“Firstly, a vacation is in order,” Victor said with a laugh. “I haven’t had a proper vacation in years. From there, things are uncertain. All I can say is that I have no intentions of leaving the sport entirely. I’m going to spend the next year thinking about what sort of role I wish to play in the future of figure skating. Apologies to those who were hoping I might disappear.” He said that last line with a wink, making the reporters laugh.

Fucking Victor. Always so _charming,_ even with his complete non-answers. Why had Yuri even bothered to show up for this? What was the point of him standing here at all? He wanted to leave, only able to take so much of Victor sucking reporters’ dicks. But as Victor called for one final question, a woman near the back of the crowed piped up with a question that made Yuri listen closely.

“Are you considering becoming Yuri Plisetsky’s coach, in the wake of his current coach retiring?”

Victor paused, visibly caught off-guard for just a second. His answer was ready, though. “I don’t know where the next year will take us, but anything is possible. I can’t imagine he’d be too happy about that, though.” He turned to Yuri and gave him that awful fake smile, and the crowd laughed again.

Yuri did his best to remain impassive, much like Yakov did during these press conferences, but inside he felt shaken. Yuri hadn’t even _considered_ Victor being his coach. On the surface, he immediately hated the idea. The thought of working with Victor every day, of looking to him for _encouragement,_ made Yuri shudder with dread. But the more the thought echoed around in his head, the harder it was to ignore the fact that Victor would probably be good at it. For all his flightiness, Victor always took skating seriously, and was meticulously professional when the moment called for it. He also knew Yakov’s training style. Working under Victor’s guidance probably wouldn’t be all that different from working with Yakov, from a practical standpoint.

Yuri didn’t realize he was being ushered away until Victor nearly had to push him back inside the building. Victor was clearly eager to end the press conference and go back to the safety of the rink, though Yuri couldn’t see why he was being so pushy about it. Was he trying to avoid something?

Once they were inside, Victor rushed past Yuri, phone held in a trembling hand, clearly trying to get away from people. What was wrong with him all the sudden? Curious, Yuri tried to follow, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. Yuri turned, and Yakov shook his head slowly.

“Leave him alone, Yurotchka.” There was a tone of sadness to his voice.

“Is he okay?” Yuri found himself asking, before he could think twice about it.

Yakov gave him a firm pat. “He will be. Come with me for a moment.”

Yuri followed Yakov into a secluded hallway, his coach’s frown grimmer than usual. He stopped and turned to Yuri, leaning heavily on his cane.

“What is it?” Yuri asked warily.

Yakov closed his eyes, and let out a long breath. “Do you want Victor as your coach?”

Yuri hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I didn’t even know it was an option until that lady asked.”

“It might not be,” Yakov said. “Depending on what he decides to do this season, he may never come back to Russia after this.”

Yuri blinked. “What? Why would he never come back?”

Yakov shook his head. “That’s not for me to say. But if there’s a chance you might want him as your coach, it will be your job to convince him to stay.”

“This doesn’t particularly sound like a job I want,” Yuri said, folding his arms. “Why should I do it? If he wants to leave so badly, why should I get him to stay?”

“Because he thinks there will be nothing left for him here.”

“But you’re here,” Yuri pointed out.

“I’m not enough. Neither is Lilia, or any of his rinkmates.”

“Then… why would I stand a chance?” Yuri had to ask. “It’s not like we’re close, or anything.”

Yakov shifted, clearly uncomfortable from standing so long. Yuri wished there were a chair nearby; as it was, they’d have to end this conversation quickly, even if it didn’t seem like the type of conversation that should be short. “Because I think he cares about you. I think, if there was any way he’d get reinvested in the sport, it would be through someone with your talents and passion. I think he would make a good coach for you, if he felt it was worth his time.”

Yuri shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t feel it. I don’t think he wants anything to do with me. The last thing I want is a coach who doesn’t want this job.”

“Which is why, if you want this, it would be in your best interest to _convince him he wants it._ I know Vitya, and I think it’s possible.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes. “You’re using me. You’re trying to use me to convince him to go against whatever he’s planning.”

“I’m not,” Yakov said. “I have a feeling that he’ll do whatever he likes. I’m just hoping you can present him with another option of something he might like. Something that might not take him so far away from us.”

Yuri turned away, huddling into himself as he nursed his worsening headache. “You want me to make myself pretty for him. An appealing option. Something that might convince him to stay in Russia instead of… wherever else he’s planning on going. America, I assume.”

Yakov came up behind him, putting a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “He would be good for you, Yurotchka. A good coach. I don’t think he knows that.”

Yuri squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how to even begin… Or if I even want this.”

“You can start by respecting him,” Yakov said with a pat. “Ask him his advice on your programs. Go to him as much as you go to me. If you find yourself hating everything he says, then you don’t have to continue. Just open the possibility.”

Would he even _talk_ to Yuri? He’d been acting so strange and distant lately, even more than usual. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll give it a try, I guess.” It’s not like Yuri had any better ideas at this point. Yakov hadn’t even told him to be nice, or try to like him—just respect him. Yuri could do respect, provided it was returned in good faith.

When Yuri tried to talk to him later, though, just a brief glance told him today wouldn’t be the time to start. Victor’s eyes were red-rimmed, his gaze hollow and distant as he glided aimlessly across the ice.

Something was definitely wrong with Victor. And, for the first time in his life, Yuri actually wanted to know what it was.


	18. Chapter 18

" _Yuuri…”_

“I’m here, Victor. What’s wrong?”

There was a shuddering breath. “ _Yuuri…_ ”

He sounded so sad that it hurt to hear his voice. “Tell me what happened. You said your press conference was today, right? Did it go badly?”

_“No… It was—it was fine. I was fine.”_ Victor cleared his throat. _“I’m sorry to bother you. I know it’s early.”_

“No, Victor. Do _not_ feel guilty for calling me.” Yuuri went down into the workshop wearing his pajamas, not wanting to wake Phichit. He ended up sitting at the base of the stairs. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

_“I don’t know,”_ Victor said. _“It just—it felt so final. I finally said it. Everyone will know. And now I have to make it happen.”_

“Do you not want it? Are you having second thoughts?”

_“I need to retire,”_ Victor said. _“I feel it in my body, but my heart is taking a little longer to catch up. Over twenty years I’ve been throwing myself into this sport. I don’t know anything else. Thinking about life without it, I just… I can’t imagine…”_ Victor audibly sniffed.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Yuuri said. “It will all be okay. You said yourself you won’t stop skating, right? You’re not leaving the ice for good. Anyone who loves it as much as you could never stay away from it.”

_“I love the competition, though. I love the energy, the adrenaline. The power everyone puts into their routines. I love making my mark and getting scored and standing on the podium.”_

“You’ve had one of the best careers in skating history,” Yuuri pointed out. “You’ve done amazing things. You’ve broken records. Any skater would kill to have your legacy.”

_“Is… that supposed to make me feel better about leaving it behind?”_

“Not necessarily,” Yuuri said, scrambling for the right words. “But I want you to remember what you said to me. You wanted to go out on your own terms, not when luck said so. You wanted to make your statement to the world, show them who you really are. You wanted to finally break free from all the masks you put on to please people over the years. And, probably most importantly, you wanted to rest. You wanted to know what it felt like to be free from all the pressure.”

Victor exhaled audibly. _“You’re right. I’m being silly.”_

“You’re not,” Yuuri insisted. “No one said this would be easy. You’re allowed to have doubts, and feel some pain at the loss. It’s frankly terrifying, doing what you’re doing. In the same position, I don’t think I could. You—you’re very brave.”

Victor laughed shortly. _“I’m brave for retiring?”_

“For being able to stop,” Yuuri said quietly. “For knowing that doing something you love was hurting you, and being able to say ‘that’s enough.’ That, to me, takes a lot of courage.”

_“Yuuri…”_

Yuuri shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, I’m not trying to make this about me.”

_“No, you’re… What you said helped. Thank you. Did you sleep well? At least, up until I woke you up?”_

“Er, well… Phichit was here last night, so he made sure I stopped working. But then I got on my laptop and started watching videos, so I didn’t fall asleep until after one…”

_“What sort of videos?”_ Victor asked suggestively.

“Yours,” Yuuri said, with little hesitation. There was no point in hiding how much of a fan he was, anymore. “I was thinking about your press conference today, so I was watching some of your old interviews. You really… don’t show your real self to the public, do you?”

_“What do you mean?”_

Yuuri felt nervous going down this path, but he felt like things needed to be said. “The way you act on camera isn’t anything like the way you act when you’re around me. You’re so calm and poised. You seem to know just when to smile to get the best reaction, but after knowing you it feels almost… rehearsed. I understand why. It was just strange to finally notice.”

_“I’ve had to learn to be careful with my words over the years,”_ Victor said. _“Often I’m not allowed to say what I’m thinking.”_

Yuuri smiled. “I like you best when you’re honest. When I was watching those videos, I couldn’t imagine that man laughing like you do. I kept hoping I’d catch a glimpse of the real you, something I could tell was genuine, but I couldn’t see it. It was like—the real Victor was just shut off completely.”

Victor took a long, slow breath. _“It’s so natural when I’m talking to people that I don’t even realize that I’m doing it. I can only act normally around people I trust, and even then…”_

“Then I’m grateful I got to know the real you,” Yuuri said with affection. “You deserve to be yourself. I used to obsess over that person I thought you were, but now he seems so dull and lifeless in comparison. The real you is so much more colorful and… beautiful. I hope you can show it to the world when you skate this season.”

Victor sniffed again, and when he spoke, his voice seemed strained. _“I hope so too. Thank you, Yuuri. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”_

“You were yourself,” Yuuri said. “That’s all you needed.”

Victor made a sound that might have been a sob or a laugh. Yuuri couldn’t tell over the phone. _“I love you. I need to go, but I’ll call you later. Go catch some more sleep, if you can.”_

“I love you too,” Yuuri said. Those words became easier to say the more he said them, but they never lost any of the impact they had on his heart. “I’ll try to sleep. I hope you feel better.”

_“You helped more than I can say right now. Take care, Yuuri.”_

“You too.” Yuuri stared at his phone as the call ended. He never could have predicted how painful it would be to listen to a lover in distress and only have his voice to provide comfort. He wanted to see Victor, to touch him and hold him and take away some of that pain, but he couldn’t.

Yuuri crawled back in bed, his movements making Phichit stir.

“Is everything okay?” Phichit mumbled sleepily.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Yuuri said, because he couldn’t bring himself to explain the way he felt. “Go back to sleep. It’s too early.”

Phichit rolled over, sliding closer to Yuuri. “What business does he have calling you at five in the morning and making you all sad?” He threw his arm across Yuuri’s body. “Poor Yuuri.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. Even mostly asleep, Phichit knew what he was feeling. “I’m alright,” he said with more conviction. “Let’s sleep in.”

Phichit snuggled closer. “Okay.”

Yuuri had trouble falling back asleep, his thoughts full of Victor and wondering how hard it must be for him. Something in his voice sounded so lonely, as if Yuuri were the only person he could talk to about this. Where was his coach? Were his rinkmates being supportive?

Did Victor have any friends in Russia at all?

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. Surely there must be _someone_ there for him? He’d mentioned Christophe a few times, and how he would visit on occasion, but his home rink was in Switzerland and their visits were few and far between. Was there really no one else?

Phichit sighed in his sleep, and Yuuri thought of how lonely _he_ would be right now if it weren’t for his best friend. Yuuri was way too lucky to have Phichit, not only as a close friend, but as someone who understood his work on a professional level. Someone who didn’t mind him complaining about machine issues, suppliers, or finicky fabrics. Did Victor have anyone he was comfortable talking to about his problems?

Knowing what he knew about him, Yuuri sadly doubted it. If Victor had any close friends in Russia, he likely would have mentioned them before. Yuuri had seen almost every photo and video available from all Victor’s competitions, and he couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone besides Christophe who might’ve been close to him. His coach, maybe, but they seemed to have a strictly professional relationship after Victor reached a certain age, and refrained from showing too much affection to one another in public.

_He needs more than me,_ Yuuri thought, making himself more comfortable against Phichit’s warm body. _Especially since I can’t be there for him._

But he fell asleep without knowing what to do about it.

* * *

 

“A weekend off?”

Phichit nodded, his eyes uncertain.

“I mean—I don’t mind,” Yuuri said. “We’re not really in danger of falling behind. I’m just surprised. What are you planning?”

“I’m spending some time with Leo and Guang-Hong,” Phichit said. His hands clutched at his mug as if using it to warm them, though it wasn’t cold in the apartment at all. “A—vacation, I guess.”

Yuuri tilted his head and bit into his toast. “Where will you go?”

“Nowhere special,” Phichit said, staring down into his tea. “We’ll probably stay close. But Leo’s booking a hotel room for us.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “A hotel room? Planning on a wild weekend?”

Phichit shook his head, laughing a little. “Nothing like that. He just wanted to give us a little pampering to help us relax.”

“Relax?” Yuuri gave a concerned frown. “Are you stressed out?”

Phichit looked aside. “Not exactly. But it will give us time to talk without distractions. There’s a lot going on in my head and I’m hoping I can use this time to… let go of some of it.” He looked back at Yuuri. “But I’m not going to go if you think you might need me.”

“You should definitely go,” Yuuri said with conviction. “I know I haven’t been my best lately, but I can look after myself for a weekend.” His eyes drifted down to Phichit’s hands. “You’ve been… so amazing to me these past few weeks, that I can’t even begin to thank you enough. You deserve anything I can give you, so if you want a weekend, take it.”

Phichit let go of his mug and reached out, grabbing Yuuri’s hands. “I need you to promise me that you’ll call me if you need me. I can’t go otherwise.”

His eyes were so intense that Yuuri nearly shuddered. “I promise,” he said.

Phichit squeezed Yuuri’s hands. “Any little thing. If you’re feeling sad, or lonely, or frustrated—give me a call.”

Yuuri smiled. “I won’t interrupt your weekend for any little mood swing I have. But I promise you I’ll be fine. And if for some reason I’m not, I’ll call you.”

Phichit released him. “I mean it, Yuuri.”

“I know.” Yuuri sipped his coffee. “Is there… something bothering you? You seem a little more tense than usual.”

“No,” Phichit said, and a beat later got up from the table to put away his dishes.

Yuuri sensed he was lying. But what could he say? Trying to get Phichit to talk about something he didn’t want to touch was an easy way to make one or both of them start crying or yelling. Yuuri tried a gentler approach. “If it’s something I can help with, I want to know. Most of the time you’re taking care of me, so if there’s any way I can return the favor…”

Phichit turned back, giving Yuuri a pained expression. “I wish… I wish you could, Yuuri. I really do. But I think this is something best kept between me and my friends.”

The way he said it stung a little. “I’m not your friend?”

Phichit’s expression gentled into a smile. “Of course you are. How could you possibly doubt that? I only meant… it’s private. For now. Maybe I’ll tell you someday, when things are clearer. I promise, if there was something you could do to fix it, I would have told you a long time ago.” He hesitated, hugging himself. “This weekend... I’m hoping it will help. If it doesn’t, I’ll tell you everything.”

Yuuri almost couldn’t stand to see Phichit so down. If there wasn’t anything he could say to help, he only knew one other thing he could do. He stood, and went to embrace his friend. “I’m sorry.”

Phichit relaxed into the hug, returning it easily. “Why are you sorry?”

“I just… feel like it has something to do with me. Or I’m making it worse somehow.”

Phichit exhaled softly against Yuuri’s neck. “Trust me, Yuuri. It’s not your fault.” He pulled away, his cheerful smile returning. “Don’t worry about it, alright? I’m fixing it.”

Yuuri lightly cupped Phichit’s face. “I can’t not worry.”

Phichit brushed off his hand, and ruffled Yuuri’s hair affectionately. “You have a boyfriend who needs your worry a lot more than I do. Focus on making him feel better. I’ll be fine.”

“You promise?”

Phichit leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I promise. Let’s get downstairs—I want to finish those two dresses before this weekend.”

* * *

 

Yuuri was no stranger to being alone in the workshop. On his days off, Phichit often spent time with his friends, going to a gig with Leo or the rink with Guang-Hong. But this was the first time Yuuri could recall that Phichit was gone for consecutive days.

Phichit had left Friday night, after making a huge pot of khao soi base for Yuuri to eat over the weekend. All Yuuri had to do was heat it up and add the mustard greens and noodles, which he could do easily, if he forced himself to stop working long enough to actually make the effort. Phichit threatened to spam Yuuri’s phone at meal times to make _sure_ he ate, though Yuuri made him promise to only do it if it didn’t interfere with his weekend.

Saturday afternoon saw Yuuri fulfilling Phichit’s demand, stopping the work on Victor’s costume to throw together his soup, taking pictures and sending them to Phichit as proof. Phichit sent back a photo of a lavish spread of room service food, someone’s robe-clad hip in the corner of the photo.

Yuuri: _Looks like you’re having fun.  
_ Phichit: _this hotel has a spa  
_ Phichit: _we’re getting massages after we eat  
_ Yuuri: _Sounds relaxing  
_ Yuuri: _I’m jealous  
_ Phichit: _maybe if you’re good I can give you a back massage when I get back ;)_

Yuuri paused, looking at the message and wondering why it made him feel so strange. He was distracted by that line of thought by his phone buzzing with another message, this one from Victor.

Victor: _Are you busy?  
_ Yuuri: _About to eat lunch.  
_ Victor: _Oh? What’s on the menu? Sandwiches?_  
Yuuri: _Phichit left me khao soi. I’m heating it up._  
Victor: _That noodle soup you told me about? I’ll bet that’s delicious. I’m about to eat dinner myself._

Yuuri checked the clock on his phone and did the math. It was after 10pm there.

Yuuri: _But it’s so late. Why did it take you this long to get dinner?  
_ Victor: _I was at the gym and lost track of time.  
_ Victor: _Want to eat together?_

Yuuri didn’t quite know what that would entail, but he agreed to it anyway, and before long he had his laptop set up on the kitchen table in front of his steaming bowl of khao soi. He hit accept on Victor’s video call, and was greeted by the beaming face of his lover.

“ _Yuuri! I missed you!”_

“I missed you too,” Yuuri said, smiling helplessly. “What are you eating?” There was no food he could see on camera.

Victor frowned. “ _Boring food. It’s almost ready. I’ll just pretend it tastes as good as your soup.”_

“What counts as boring food?” Yuuri wanted to know.

_“Steamed vegetables, a piece of chicken, and kasha. It’s the meal I make if I don’t have time to cook much.”_

“Do you cook a lot for yourself?” Yuuri asked. “When you’re training, I mean.”

Victor rested his head on his palm, gifting Yuuri with a decidedly loving expression. _“When I can. I usually only make simple things for myself, but I enjoy cooking for other people. I had plans to cook for you while I was there, a whole big dinner… But we ran out of time. Someday, though, I’m going to make you all my favorites. I want to share my food with you the way you shared with me.”_

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head. “You’ve never had my absolute favorite food, either… But that requires a trip to Japan.”

_“Oh? What is your absolute favorite, then?”_

“My mother’s _katsudon._ It’s a fried pork cutlet rice bowl with egg and vegetables. I had it… often, as a child.”

_“So it’s not something you could make me? We’d have to go to Japan to have it?”_

“It’s not that I couldn’t make it, but it wouldn’t be the same,” Yuuri said. “I don’t know what’s special about hers, but I’ve never had one that tasted as good.”

_“Is that so? Then, that sounds like a trip is in order.”_

“Someday,” Yuuri said.

Victor’s smile wavered for just a second, but even in the low-quality camera, Yuuri caught it.

“Are you feeling okay?” Yuuri asked.

Victor sighed. _“Same as usual, I suppose.”_

Yuuri didn’t quite know what “usual” meant. Victor wasn’t all that forthcoming with his feelings or what bothered him. It was almost as though he wanted to shove it all aside for Yuuri’s sake, but not quite. Perhaps it was more he wanted to enjoy Yuuri’s company without thinking about it.

_“I’m happy I caught you, though. I wasn’t expecting to have much more than my boring dinner alone.”_

“You really should call me more,” Yuuri said. “I enjoy it as much as you do.”

_“One moment, Yuuri,”_ Victor said, standing up. Yuuri could hear the sounds of utensils scraping and banging against pots. A minute later Victor returned with a small plate of food.

“Is that all you’re eating?” It seemed like so little food.

_“Since it’s late, I shouldn’t eat much,”_ Victor said, sounding defeated. _“Don’t worry, though; I’ll finish the rest of it in the morning.”_ He pinched his eyes shut and rubbed at his forehead.

“Headache?” Yuuri guessed.

Victor grimaced. “ _A little. But it’s nothing new. You should eat before your food gets cold._ ”

Yuuri worried, but did as he was told, slurping up his noodles with enthusiasm. He used his chopsticks to tear off pieces of the tender chicken in the soup, and pulled up some mustard greens with it. When he looked at the screen again, Victor was smiling.

_“I really missed watching you eat,”_ he said. _“Does it taste good?”_

“I love it,” Yuuri said emphatically. “It’s my favorite dish Phichit has ever made for me. Though honestly, I’m starting to associate it with bribery, since he usually uses it to get me to do something. For the things he bribes me for, though, it’s almost always worth it.”

_“What’s he bribing you for this time?”_ Victor asked, chewing through a bite of his food. Usually he had excellent table manners, but this time he seemed too tired to care.

Yuuri looked aside. “I—well… I told you he was away this weekend, right? He didn’t trust me to eat without him, so he made more than enough to get me by this weekend. And I have to provide photographic evidence that I’m eating.”

Victor laughed, and Yuuri felt his insides warm in a way that had nothing to do with the soup. _“You two are so cute. When I retire, though, you know I’m not going to let you get away with the whole ‘not eating’ thing too, right?”_

“It’s not like I _want_ to avoid food,” Yuuri said. “Though... I admit it would be more appealing to stop work if I were sharing a meal with you.”

Victor’s eyes lowered thoughtfully, and for a moment they only ate, Yuuri soaking in Victor’s “presence” like a sponge. Was it normal to miss someone so thoroughly after being apart for little more than a week? Was it only going to get harder?

_“I heard a rumor that assignments are going out tomorrow,”_ Victor said. _“Which means…”_

“We’ll know when and where we get to see each other again,” Yuuri finished for him, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Anywhere you’re hoping, for your last year?”

Victor put a finger to his chin thoughtfully, and Yuuri fell in love all over again. _“Not particularly. I like a lot of places, but I also don’t normally get much time to enjoy myself. If you’re there, I don’t care at all where it is.”_

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t wait. Let me know as soon as you find out.”

Victor smiled back. _“Of course.”_

Victor listened to Yuuri’s idle chatter about his work—both his progress on Victor’s costume and the other clients they were currently working for. By the end of their meal Yuuri could tell Victor’s interest was mostly polite, but he didn’t seem to want Yuuri to stop talking, so he didn’t. Eventually, though, Yuuri ran out of things to say, and Victor’s face took on a desperate, despondent expression as he resigned that he should probably go to bed.

Yuuri swallowed back nerves, knowing he had to do _something_ about that look. “Is there anything I can do for you, Victor?”

_“You can get back to your work,”_ Victor said. _“Like I said, I should—”_

“No,” Yuuri said. “You think I can work when you leave looking like that?”

Victor’s eyes widened. _“What do you mean?”_

“You’re not okay, Victor,” Yuuri said. “You can’t even lie and tell me you’re fine. If there’s anything, _anything_ I can do to help, please say so. Ask me.”

Victor’s mouth tightened, his eyes trained on the hand idly twisting his fork. _“The thing I really want would be irresponsible for both of us, so I won’t even ask. But I… admit I need something.”_

“What is it?” Yuuri asked, when it became clear Victor was reluctant to say it.

Victor sighed. _“I don’t even know if it will work like this, but I’m willing to try if you are.”_

Yuuri gathered his meaning. “You need… my insults? Are you sure?” Victor already looked like he’d been kicked to the ground—would kicking him even more help at all?

_“Not entirely. But I know I need_ something, _and I know it’s helped in the past.”_

“Hmm… Can I propose something different?” Yuuri asked. “I’ll still do it if you decide you don’t want this, but I… To me, it feels like you need someone to build you up more than take you down, right now. I can’t promise I understand entirely how it all works for you, but it almost seems like insulting you would just make things worse. I don’t want to reinforce anything going on in your head right now.”

Victor stared, clearly surprised. _“Well, I’m willing to try anything. If you can spare the time.”_

“Don’t be silly—I can always spare the time for you, Victor.”

Victor’s smile returned. _“Okay. Give me about ten minutes to clean up.”_

Yuuri smiled back, and the moment the call ended he released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He stood to clean up after his own meal, hoping he’d made the right decision. All Yuuri could think about was that Victor was unhappy, which wasn’t unexpected, but the cause felt deeper than simply being so far apart from Yuuri. This unhappiness felt old, like something Victor had carried for a long time, surfacing now because there was nothing else in his life to bury it under. Of course, Yuuri didn’t know this for sure, but it was too strong of an impression to ignore.

In the few minutes Yuuri was waiting, he debated where to take his laptop. The lighting was better in the kitchen, but the bed was decidedly more comfortable, even if there wasn’t a comfortable place to put his laptop that would also offer a good viewing angle. In the end he compromised by settling on the couch, propping the laptop up on the arm while he lounged against the opposite end. With his camera on, he meticulously adjusted the angle, leaning back each time until he finally deemed it acceptable, if not entirely flattering. Since it was a little dark he turned on a lamp behind him, but found it cast too harsh of a shadow, and opted for the lamp on the other side, behind the laptop, instead. When he leaned back again he noticed a clutter of books on the table behind his head, and decided to move them to the coffee table. A coaster he unearthed reminded him that he would probably need water if he was going to talk a lot, so he prepared a glass of ice water and set it nearby, just in case. He also fished out his bottle of lube from the bathroom and set it on the coffee table, out of sight in case it didn’t get used.

He was probably overthinking it.

Just as he sat down again, the startling ring of the Skype call echoed in the silent apartment, and Yuuri closed the camera program before answering. “Hey.”

_“Hi there,”_ Victor said, smiling tentatively. _“I brought you into my bed.”_ He already had his shirt off, though if he wore anything below it, it was a mystery to Yuuri. He seemed to have the laptop propped up on his lower torso.

“I settled for the couch,” Yuuri said, looking around him. “I don’t think you ever sat here.”

Victor laughed nervously. _“No, I don’t think I did.”_

“Have you ever… done this before?” Yuuri wanted to know.

_“Not exactly. Not with live video like this. I would exchange pictures and short videos with Chris on occasion for fun, and sometimes we’d get each other off over the phone, but we never did a Skype call or anything. This is my first time.”_

“I probably don’t need to mention it, but it’s mine, too,” Yuuri said awkwardly. “Sorry if I’m a little weird.”

_“You’re fine,”_ Victor reassured him. _“I’m glad my first time is with you. And if it’s too uncomfortable for you, we can stop at any time.”_

Yuuri didn’t plan on stopping once things got started, but he was grateful for the care, anyway. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, laying back. “Is the volume okay? Can you see me alright?”

_“Everything’s good on my end, I think,”_ Victor said. _“The only way it could be better is if you were here.”_

Yuuri smiled sadly. “I wish I could be. Before things get started, I wanted to tell you a story. It’s… pretty un-sexy, but it’s something I think you should know about me.”

Victor nodded, and the camera shook as Victor seemed to shift his body a little to get comfortable.

Yuuri took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “It’s about my first kiss. Normally I think of Phichit as giving me my _real_ first kiss, but there was one before it—and when I think on it now, I feel like that one might have been more important, even if it wasn’t as great.

“It happened when I was thirteen. My best friend at the time was a girl, Yuuko, and we had been friends for years, bonding over our mutual love of figure skating, and eventually, our admiration of you. Her obsession with you sort of faded over time, but mine didn’t, and she used to tease me about wanting to marry you. I, of course, denied it, insisting my feelings for you weren’t like that. I even told her that I’d rather marry her than you. She then asked me to ‘prove it,’ which to her meant kissing her. I wasn’t going to be proven wrong, because I was _sure_ I knew myself better than she did.”

Yuuri sighed. “Well, she knew me, and I was wrong. The kiss was—it wasn’t awful, really, but it felt wrong to me. I’m not trying to hold my thirteen-year-old self to impossible standards, but it felt like my heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons. And when I went home that night, I let myself _really_ think about it. I imagined what it would be like meeting _you_ , letting _you_ hold me, letting _you_ kiss me, and it really… awakened something in me. I didn’t completely understand, but I knew I wouldn’t have minded getting close to you. And from there, it was easier, later down the line, to accept that maybe I liked men that way. Maybe I liked _only_ men that way. Maybe I wanted to have sex with men. It was… a turning point for me, and you were the catalyst. I don’t know how long it would have taken me to understand if it weren’t for that little push from Yuuko.

“It took me a long time to figure out why you were so different, though—why I admired you more than others. It wasn’t just because you were beautiful and talented, though you definitely were—are—those things. My first year of college, when my roommate asked me why I liked you so much, was the first time I really sat down and tried to figure it out. What was it about Victor Nikiforov that made me act that way? What was it about you that stirred my heart and inspired me? I had something of a crisis, because I began to doubt that there _was_ a real reason. I started to wonder if my obsessions were groundless, if I’d only held onto them over the years as a sort of life line because I didn’t know who I was without them.

“So I forced myself to watch you again. Performances, press conferences, interviews, everything. I listened to you speak in all your languages, reread articles about you, and I made note of everything that pulled at me. Everything I liked, everything I didn’t like, everything that gave me an emotional response. It sounds sort of like a scientific response to an emotional problem, but it was the only way I could handle it without getting overwhelmed. And when I exhausted every piece of media I could find, I connected the dots.”

Up until this point, Yuuri had only occasionally glanced at Victor, letting his eyes fixate on various distant features of the apartment, because he couldn’t trust himself to get all the words out while those blue eyes stared at him through the screen. But now that he’d reached his conclusion, the whole reason he was telling this story, he _had_ to meet his lover’s eyes. He had to know Victor’s reaction, and he had to let Victor know that everything he was saying was the truth.

“Victor Nikiforov is a man of strength,” Yuuri said. “He’s unashamed. What’s hidden beneath his careful, half-hearted words, shines brightly through his skating. His ability to express beauty and emotion is unrivaled, taking on many forms over the years and yet always managing to be flawless. His talent is as undeniable as his dedication, both working in tandem to create something extraordinary and breathtaking.” Yuuri paused, taking a second to sip from his water cup. “From the moment I first saw you, something you were using your skating to express really resonated with me, and even though I didn’t know at the time what it was, it felt… right. Like you were reaching out to some part of me that I didn’t yet understand. My obsession came from that strange, breathless feeling you gave me, because no matter how many times I watched you, it never faded. Whether you knew it or not, you were calling out to someone like me, and it felt like you understood some fundamental part of me in a way that no one else could. I knew I was delusional to think that it was anything so personal, but I couldn’t deny what I felt in my heart. Somehow, you were like a guiding light to help me figure out who I was, and I was helpless to do anything but follow you. My obsession wasn’t a fluke. It was what allowed me to come to terms with what I was— _who_ I was.”

It was hard to tell from the dark, somewhat grainy video feed, but Yuuri thought he saw some shine in Victor’s eyes. His strained voice only strengthened Yuuri’s assessment. _“Thank you. For—telling me such a personal story. I never knew I’d touched you so deeply. But you should know, Yuuri—whatever it is you saw, I didn’t do it on purpose. I hardly knew what I was doing back then, and honestly, not much has changed since. Whatever it was about me that touched you, I was completely unaware of it.”_

“Maybe it wasn’t something you did consciously, but after I’ve gotten close to you, I know I didn’t imagine it,” Yuuri said. “Something always… shines, when you skate, especially when you skate your best. It’s something that’s uniquely you, something that’s captivated so many of your fans over the years. Something about you, that unnamable thing deep inside you, seems to light up when you’re on the ice. And… I saw it, too, when we were together.” He looked down at his hands clasped across his lap. “The reason I’m telling you all of this is because, right now, I don’t see it at all. Not even a hint of it. Sometimes, when you smile or laugh, it’s like the spark of an empty lighter trying to get it to burn again, but there’s no fuel left. I don’t know what your fuel is, but I want to do what I can to help you replenish it.”

_“Yuuri…”_ Victor gave a helpless sort of laugh, and Yuuri looked up to find Victor’s cheeks sparkling with tears. _“You’re my fuel. I’m sure I was happy at times before I met you, but I can’t remember how, now. All I think about is how I want to be with you, and how I can’t wait for this stupid season to be over so that I can hurry back to you.”_

Yuuri swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Victor…”

Victor shook his head, laughing again. _“I’m a mess. I don’t know how to do anything, anymore. I’m going through the motions, but I can’t feel anything. I’m… stuck. And short of doing something stupid, I don’t know how to fix it.”_

“Let me help,” Yuuri said, his voice weak. He cleared his throat. “Let me try to help.”

_“I don’t know what you could do…”_

“I don’t, either, but anything’s worth trying. I don’t want to be the cause of you throwing away your last season. It would shatter my heart.” He gave a half-smile. “Not to mention my poor costumes would go to waste.”

Victor gave a weak smile back. _“I’d never let that happen.”_ He closed his eyes and released a slow breath. _“I’ll get past this, somehow. I’m not sure what it’ll take—maybe I just need time to adjust. Everything with you happened so suddenly that I have moments where I fear it didn’t happen at all.”_

“Then maybe you need more reminders, Victor,” Yuuri said, pitching his voice lower. Yuuri removed his glasses and popped his shirt over his head before replacing them. He would have left them off, but he needed to see Victor’s face. “If I could, I would make it impossible for you to ever forget what I did to you.”

Victor shifted, the camera shaking a little. _“Yuuri…”_

“For now, though,” Yuuri went on, “I’ll just have to settle for a strong impression, and trust your mind to hold onto it for a little while.” He closed his eyes and ran his hands sensually down his bare torso, letting a soft moan escape him as he settled into his chosen role. He felt the camera on him, felt Victor’s eyes intensely watching him, and the thrill of it sent a shiver down his spine. He gazed at his lover. “Do you want this, Victor?”

_“Please,”_ Victor breathed out.

A teasing smile played at Yuuri’s lips. “You know, no one’s been able to turn me on quite like you do. When I was younger, all I had to do was catch a glimpse of your skating, and it would make me hard. Now, it’s more your eyes. Knowing I have your attention… it makes me want to… do things…” Yuuri slid a hand suggestively under his waistband, adjusting his growing hardness to make it a little more visible against his track pants. “Mmn. I would do anything for you, as long as you look at me like that.”

Victor shifted again, moving his camera off to his side and adjusting the angle, giving Yuuri a better view of his body. He was wearing nothing but a tight pair of boxer-briefs, a prominent bulge already apparent inside them. _“Anything, you say? Are you taking requests?”_

Yuuri squeezed himself, letting out a breathy moan. “Anything you ask. What do you want to see, Victor?”

_“It’s as much what I want to hear as what I want to see,”_ Victor said in a low voice. _“Talk to me, Yuuri. Tell me what you’re doing. Tell me what feels good.”_

Yuuri arced his back briefly in a stretch, and rubbed his palms against his thighs to warm them. “Everything feels good when you’re watching me.” He licked his thumb and began to rub it against his nipple slowly, the building pleasure sending electric shivers through his body. “Nnn. I miss your mouth on my nipples.”

Victor gave a low chuckle. _“You liked that?”_

“I loved everything you did to me, but _especially_ that,” Yuuri said. He slid two fingers deep into his mouth, coating them heavily in his saliva with a moan, then proceeded to use those fingers to tease his other nipple. “You’re a good lover. It was hard to lie about that.”

_“I’m glad you think so. You, on the other hand, are amazing. I still remember how breathless I felt after our first time together, how overwhelmed I was by how good you were. And here you are again, taking me by surprise.”_

Yuuri breathed a laugh, his nipple teasing making it harder to think. “What’s surprising about me getting turned on by you?”

Victor smiled, and reached down into his boxers, knuckles stretching the fabric as he squeezed himself. _“Don’t play coy—you know exactly what I mean.”_

“Nnn, I’m not so sure,” Yuuri said as he slid one of his hands down into his pants. “You should tell me what’s surprising about this.”

_“How eager you are to put on a show for me,”_ Victor said, his breath hitching as his hand moved. _“How natural you are at it. How much you seem to love it.”_

“What’s not to love?” Yuuri moaned as he squeezed himself, as if to reinforce his point, then opened his eyes just a peek. “Can I watch you?”

_“I’m not the only one with clothing to remove,”_ Victor said, and pushed down the waistband, exposing his beautifully engorged cock.

Yuuri licked his lips in an exaggerated gesture, letting Victor know how much he liked what he saw.

_“You too,”_ Victor said, laughter in his voice.

Yuuri hooked his thumbs into the waist bands of both his pants and underwear, poised to pull it off in one go, but he hesitated, giving Victor an expectant look.

_“Please,”_ Victor said, his eyes bright and eager.

“Since you asked nicely…” Yuuri slowly slid his pants down, and lifted his legs off the couch to tug them off entirely. He was sure he gave Victor a nice view, provided there wasn’t too much of a shadow. Judging by Victor’s hungry look as Yuuri tossed his pants aside, he must have seen _something_ he liked. “Mm… You know what else you did that felt good?”

_“What’s that?”_

Yuuri spread his legs and lifted his hips a little, sliding a finger below his taught balls. “When you licked me, right here. I had no idea it felt like _that.”_

Victor had his cock in his hand, giving it slow, careful strokes as he watched. _“You’ve never been fucked, have you?”_

“Who would have?”

_“Would you want it? If it was offered to you?”_

“Only if it were you,” Yuuri said. “The only one allowed inside this body is you.”

That had apparently been the right thing to say, as Victor let out a sudden moan that almost made Yuuri think he was about to finish already. _“Of course it would be me,”_ he breathed out.

“Would _you_ want it?” Yuuri asked, rubbing idly at his taint for Victor’s amusement.

_“Right now it feels like all I want. Though in my fantasy you’re straddling my hips, taking me for yourself.”_

Yuuri’s cock pulsed at the image. “I’d like that, I think.”

_“I’d make it good for you. I could prepare you nice and slowly, and when you were ready, you could pin me down and take me as you pleased.”_

An idea flashed through Yuuri’s head, and he voiced it before he could second-guess himself. “Have you ever been tied up?”

_“Can’t say I have,”_ Victor said. _“Do you… want to tie me up?”_

“Nn… If you’re interested… I’ll tie you up.” Even in his severely aroused state, he couldn’t yet admit that it was one of his deepest fantasies. Having Victor immobile, gagged, entirely at Yuuri’s mercy… So many powerful orgasms were owed to variations of that scenario playing in his mind.

_“What else do you want to do to me?”_

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. “You’ll find out someday.” Or not. His fantasies weren’t exactly kind to Victor, and if his lover discovered he didn’t like being tied up, there wasn’t any chance of going further than that. Better to not voice his hopes than to come off too extreme.

Yuuri slid two fingers down against his hole, hoping to distract Victor from that line of thinking.

_“Are you going to finger yourself for me, Yuuri?”_

“I was considering it,” Yuuri said coyly. “Is that something you want?”

_“I want to see you enjoy yourself, whichever way you choose. And let me hear you.”_

Yuuri reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube, flicked it open, and proceeded to make a show of coating his hands with it. Very slowly he rubbed it around his palms, spreading it to his fingertips, then slid both hands between his legs to slick up his crack. Head tilted back, he moaned languidly as he massaged his hole, exaggerating just a little, but enjoying himself all the same. Knowing Victor was watching him made all the difference.

_“Put one inside, Yuuri,”_ Victor said in a low voice.

Yuuri held his eyes closed, focusing on the movement of his hands and how he was feeling, so he couldn’t see how Victor was reacting. The slight strain in his voice, though, told Yuuri all he needed to know. He pushed a finger against the pucker of skin, and gasped as the cold lube entered inside him. It felt… strange. It had been a long time since he’d tried this, and he recalled it being strange then, too. But he was so turned-on now, so hungry for Victor’s attention, that he was going to continue. He slid his finger further inside, and slowly felt himself adjust to the intrusion. He grabbed his cock with his other hand, stroking it slowly with the lube, and worked his finger in and out, panting out moans as his body became electrified.

_“You’re so good, Yuuri.”_ Victor’s voice was breathy, and he let out a quiet grunt. _“Can you do another finger?”_

Yuuri tensed up as he tried to slide two fingers inside, but remembered he needed to relax, and let out a slow breath as he attempted to do so. It wasn’t easy, and it felt uncomfortable, but Victor’s soft moans cut right through his discomfort and went straight to his cock.

_“You haven’t done this before, have you?”_ Victor asked after a moment.

“Not much, and not in a long time,” Yuuri admitted.

_“If you’re not feeling it, you don’t have to keep doing it. Something like this requires time to figure out what feels good, especially at first. I’ll be glad to offer my assistance when we see each other again, but for now, focus on what you like. Use some of that lube on your nipples.”_

“If you insist,” Yuuri said with a dramatic sigh, and removed his fingers with a teasing smile. It felt deliciously filthy to use those same fingers on his chest, but he already planned a shower after this. Knowing it wouldn’t take much to end it, he focused just on his nipples for a while, watching Victor slowly stroke his own cock.

_“You’re so sexy, Yuuri,”_ Victor said softly, his breath hitching with held-back moans. _“So beautiful. I have just one more request tonight.”_

“What is it?”

_“Say my name when you cum.”_

Yuuri licked his lips and slid a hand back down to his cock to give it firm, determined pumps. He lost himself to the sensations, letting his throat make whatever sounds it desired, holding nothing back, communicating just how good it all felt. His breathing escalated as he felt his pleasure cresting, his hips lifting of their own accord. “I’m coming, Victor,” he panted. “Nn—ah! Vi—Victor!”

Hot drops spattered all over Yuuri’s chest, coming and coming for long seconds as Yuuri’s whole body seized. Blood rushed against his ears as his heart pounded while he gasped for air, and Yuuri only just managed to open his eyes in time to see Victor’s face twist in a look of pleasurable agony. The grainy, dark video didn’t give a very clear view of Victor’s cum, but Yuuri didn’t need it—that face was more erotic than anything else he could have seen, and he prayed he could hold onto that image for a long time.

Victor slowly opened his eyes, his hair falling messily in front of his face.

“You’re beautiful, Victor,” Yuuri said affectionately. “I miss you so much.”

_“I miss you too, more than I’ve ever missed anything.”_ Victor cleared his throat, his voice dry from so much breathing. _“Thank you for all of this.”_

“We’ll do it again,” Yuuri said. He sat up and grabbed his discarded shirt, using it to wipe off his fingers and chest. “Whenever you need it, just let me know. If you don’t, I’ll insist on it anyway, because _I_ need this, too. And I need to know you’re okay.”

_“I’ll keep that in mind. I’m sorry to worry you so much.”_

“Worrying about worrying me is the last thing you need to think about,” Yuuri said, smiling at his lover. “Focus on taking care of yourself, and doing whatever you need to do to keep yourself going—even if that means calling me at odd hours.”

Victor closed his eyes and sighed. _“Thank you.”_

“Promise me you’ll call if you need to.”

_“I promise.”_ Victor covered his mouth in a yawn.

“Get some sleep,” Yuuri told him.

_“Alright,”_ Victor said, stifling another yawn. _“I love you, Yuuri.”_

“I love you too, Victor. Goodnight.”

Yuuri spent a moment in silence after the call ended, giving his mind a moment to process everything that just happened. Had he really just…? Yuuri shook his head, knowing he’d get embarrassed if he thought about it too hard.

But as he took a nice hot shower, afterward, Yuuri found himself ensnared by an idea that probably wasn’t the wisest, but wouldn’t leave his mind. After he’d toweled off and put on fresh clothes, he pulled out his phone and sent a text.

Yuuri: _Hey Phichit  
_ Yuuri: _Which photos did you have saved from Leo’s New Year’s party?_


	19. Chapter 19

Victor awoke feeling refreshed for the first time in over a week. He’d actually slept straight to his alarm, and didn’t struggle to get out of bed once he’d turned it off. Flashes of last night gave him delicious shivers as he showered, until he could no longer ignore his arousal and had to take care of it in a way he hadn’t needed to do in years.

“I love everything about him,” Victor whispered to himself as he looked in the mirror, hair still dripping after he’d toweled off. “How did even this happen?”

His reflection, of course, had no idea, and a grumble in Victor’s stomach reminded him of how little he’d eaten last night. He went to dress and heat up the rest of the food he’d prepared last night, still dumbfounded by his boyfriend.

Practice at the rink went smoothly, though he didn’t push his luck, keeping his jumping attempts minimal and spending most of his time refining his choreography. Solène had sent the latest version of his short program song yesterday, this time with more instrumentation and a few lyrical adjustments. Though she warned it was still a work in progress, it was complete enough for Victor to imagine skating to it. Today, somehow, the lyrics hit him harder, specifically the lines about burning his cage, washing him in unnamable, tingling energy. As he skated, he thought of Yuuri’s story from last night, and that _something_ of Victor’s that supposedly resonated with him. What was it, exactly? Could he bring it back?

Victor noticed his rinkmates’ eyes on him more than once, but ignored them, falling deeper into his routine and pouring himself into his movements in a way he hadn’t been able to in a long time. Over and over he practiced, the song playing on an endless loop, the vision of his performance becoming so real he could almost feel the coolness of Yuuri’s King costume on his skin.

He was so lost to practice that he didn’t notice someone approaching, and he nearly smacked them in the face with his flourishing arm until a hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie.

Victor turned and saw Yuri, his mouth in its natural scowl, but his eyes giving a searching look. Victor pulled his earphones out. “What is it?”

“You haven’t taken a break in a while,” Yuri said, sounding almost begrudging with his concern. “Stop and eat, or at least rest.”

Victor smiled at the younger skater. “Did Yakov send you?”

“No, I—” He turned his head away. “Just come on.”

It wasn’t the first time Victor had a befuddling encounter with Yuri in recent days. He’d asked Victor more than once for advice on his programs, once even pushing him to listen to his music and help him choose good locations for jumps and spins. Victor helped the best he could, but since he wasn’t at his best to begin with, he’d wondered how useful his advice would be. But Yuri had listened all the same, taking notes and asking questions, for once not shouting at or arguing at the drop of a hat.

This time he shared a bench with Victor as they removed their skates, and followed him to the break room. Where a few weeks ago he wouldn’t even take a table adjacent to Victor, now Yuri sat across from him with a big container of borsht, eating quietly while looking at his phone. Victor himself had a simple salad and small cup of buttered kasha on the side, as he hated to eat heavily in the middle of training. He knew his light eating would make his appetite spike considerably once he got home, but he would remedy that with the huge bag of takeout he always allowed himself on Sundays.

Victor’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and once he’d fished it out, he saw a text notification reading: _Yuuri has sent you a photo._

Victor took a drink from his water bottle and idly opened the message—then inhaled so sharply he was consumed by a coughing fit, his phone nearly slipping from his hand onto the table. He held tight, and hastily sent his phone back to the home screen.

“What’s wrong?” Yuri asked, giving Victor a strange look.

“Nothing, nothing,” Victor managed to say between coughs.

“You’ve been so weird since you came back from America,” Yuri muttered, his cheeks turning pink. “What exactly happened over there?”

Victor blinked, and coughed a few more times to clear the water from his throat. “Are you actually interested in the answer, or are you trying to get more information for Yakov?”

“Huh? No.”

“Come on, Yuri, you don’t have to pretend,” Victor said, smiling slyly at him. “I know Yakov must have put you up to this. He’s annoyed I’m not talking to him more, so he’s asked you to pry information out of me.”

“That’s not what this is!” Yuri slammed his fist on the table, and borsht came sloshing out of his bowl, some of it splashing onto his shirt. “Shit!”

Victor handed over one of his napkins. “Then, what is it?”

“I just wanted to know why you were acting so weird all of the sudden,” Yuri said, wiping fruitlessly at his shirt. “What changed? Is it because you’re retiring?”

“When you say ‘acting weird’…”

“I mean spacing out all the time. Checking your phone during practice. Getting discouraged by your failed jumps. Looking like a fucking lost, attention-starved puppy. Just now you saw something on your phone that actually shook you, and I’ve _never_ seen you visibly shaken by anything. So what the hell is going on?”

Victor idly stabbed at his salad, wondering what he should say. “What do you think is going on?”

“I don’t have a fucking clue,” Yuri growled, abandoning his attempt at blotting the stain off his shirt. “Mila says you found someone.”

“She’s not wrong,” Victor said.

Yuri picked up his spoon, and stared down into his soup. “I overheard you talking to someone named ‘Yuuri’, and it sure as hell wasn’t to me. Is that him?”

Victor inwardly cringed, wondering what he must have overheard. “Yes. Yuuri Katsuki. He’s a costume designer.”

“So it’s true, then? You went all the way to America, going so far as to train there, for a costume?”

“No,” Victor said. “The first time, yes, that was my goal. I wanted to meet with the designers and ask after someone, but I didn’t intend to stay long. The second time, though, was because I’d hurt someone very badly, and I needed to make amends.”

Yuri snorted. “You, hurt someone? What’d you do, run them over with your grandma driving?”

Victor only pressed his lips together, saddened by the reminder of what he’d done to Yuuri.

“What _did_ you do?” Yuri asked, more sincerely this time.

“I crushed someone’s dreams without realizing it,” Victor said. “I had no recollection of it, but it happened, and I had to do something about it. I wouldn’t have been able to perform otherwise.”

Yuri raised a curious eyebrow. “If you didn’t know about it, and didn’t do it on purpose, why did you feel like you had to do something? Why would you feel guilty about that?”

“Because, whether I knew about it or not, I still caused someone pain. Sometimes our intentions aren’t enough to absolve us from what we’ve done. If I learn about it, and have the means to fix it, I will.”

“So you fixed it… by dating him?”

“I didn’t say he was the one I hurt,” Victor said.

“Yeah, but it’s written all over your face,” Yuri said. “You hurt this guy, you go over there to fix it, and you ended up dating him? Was it out of pity, or…?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Victor said firmly. “I didn’t… expect to like him so much. Mostly I just wanted to convince him I wasn’t as bad as he thought I was, but in the end we sort of… fell for each other.”

“So the reason you’re all dopey is because you miss him, then?” Yuri asked. “Not for any other reason?”

Victor sighed. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘all dopey,’ but I suppose that’s only part of it.”

Yuri abandoned his spoon and leaned back in his chair. “I want to know why you reacted the way you did at your press conference.”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Yuri folded his arms across his chest. “Do I need a reason?”

“Why should I be eager to bare my soul for the angry teenager who yells at me for looking at him? Why should I trust someone who’s barely spoken to me in the five years we’ve known each other?” Victor filled his mouth with salad, chewing aggressively to express his irritation.

“Hey, aren’t we supposed to be on the same team?”

“You’ve _never_ treated me as a teammate,” Victor mumbled, not bothering to swallow before he spoke.

“Bullshit. What about the Olympics?”

Victor swallowed, and took a drink. “Okay, for _one week_ you might’ve treated me like a human being. That’s an exception, Yura, not a pattern. You’ve never expressed concern for me before, so I have to wonder, why now?”

Yuri looked aside. “Because you actually look like you need it, for once in your stupid, perfect life.”

Those words struck deeper than Victor expected, taking him by surprise and leaving him speechless. Yuri… cared about him? Was he hearing that right?

“Look—I’m not trying to suddenly be your friend, or anything,” Yuri went on. “It’s just getting harder to ignore you when you look like your dog died again. You seemed okay today, though, so I thought I’d try getting some answers out of you. That’s all.”

Victor felt suddenly ashamed. “I’m… sorry. I really thought you were doing this for Yakov.”

“I’m not really sure why you’re not talking to him, either, but no, I’m not doing this for him. I’m just… I know this is your last year, and it would really suck if you couldn’t do well because of—whatever’s wrong with you. Is it really just because you miss your… boyfriend, or whatever?”

“No, I can’t say that’s all,” Victor admitted.  “But it’s not something that’s easy to explain or fix. I appreciate you wanting to help, but I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it. Or Yakov, for that matter.”

“Well, I don’t think closing yourself off is helping anything, either,” Yuri said. He tipped his bowl up to his mouth and drank down the rest of his borsht, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after. “Quit isolating yourself. That’s from Yakov, not me, but I agree with him.”

Victor wearily handed Yuri another napkin. “Your face is still covered in it. I understand what you mean, but—”

“There’s nothing you can say that’s a good excuse,” Yuri said, dabbing his mouth. “I’m supposed to invite you to dinner tonight. Lilia is cooking. No one’s going to force you to come, but I know at least Yakov wants you there.”

“Do _you_ want me there?”

“Not if you’re just going to sigh and be miserable the whole time,” Yuri said. “But yeah, whatever. It’s rare enough we all eat dinner together, and Lilia’s always in a better mood when she has someone competent to help her in the kitchen.” He stood grimacing down at the awful red stain on his shirt. “So, what should I tell Yakov?”

Victor pinched his eyes shut, not wanting to make this decision. “Tell him I’ll think about it. And boiling water will help with that stain.”

“Alright.” Yuri turned to leave. “She’ll probably start cooking around 6:30,” he threw over his shoulder as he left the break room.

Victor sighed, thinking longingly of his takeout dinner. He hadn’t even decided what to eat, yet, but he knew it was going to be hot and greasy. He twisted his fork, staring at his miserable little salad.

He could still back out, he knew. But nothing Yuri had said was wrong. Victor really shouldn’t keep himself isolated when he was feeling like this, but sometimes it was all he wanted to do. He wasn’t happier alone, but he felt—safer. The fewer people who tried to get closer to him, the less likely he’d break open again and feel that awful pain that he didn’t understand. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that he’d never have to deal with it, but did he have to start tonight?

Victor unlocked his phone, and reopened the text that Yuuri sent. It wasn’t the clearest of photos, but Yuuri was definitely naked save for his shoes, leaning on a bar with a drink in his hand, giving the photographer a very drunken attempt at a seductive look with his ass sticking out. Someone else stood behind the bar, his shirt open to display a tan, muscled chest, but his face wasn’t in the photo.

Victor felt a brief surge of arousal, and he had to close the photo before his mind traveled too far. Already he was dealing with moments of last night flashing through his head, of Yuuri putting himself on display and pleasuring himself for Victor’s benefit. He didn’t need to add more fuel to that fire right now.

But Victor had to wonder what the context of that image was. He guessed it was an older photo, as Yuuri surely would have mentioned a recent drunken party. Unless it just happened? Was Yuuri really that eager to get naked twice in a day?

Before he could come up with any other absurd scenarios, he decided to just ask Yuuri.

Victor: _When was this from?_  
Yuuri: _New Year’s  
_ Yuuri:   _This was at Leo’s place, after the party_

Victor chuckled.

Victor: _After the party? You look like you are the party._  
Yuuri: _I was very drunk_  
Yuuri: _I don’t remember most of it but Phichit assures me I was having the time of my life  
_ Yuuri: _I apparently danced with everyone_

“I want to dance with you, too,” Victor whispered to himself with a pout.

Yuuri: _This is just a preview, by the way  
_ Yuuri: _I’m going to ensure that you never have a moment to forget that I’m real_

A preview? There was _more?_ Victor wasn’t sure how it was supposed to prove that Yuuri was real, when he kept doing unbelievable things like this.

Victor: _As much as I appreciate it, I have a small request_  
Victor: _Please wait to send things until after practice_  
Victor: _I nearly dropped my phone in front of my teenage rinkmate_  
Yuuri: _Oh!_  
Yuuri: _I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking of timing at all._  
Victor: _Don’t worry about it. Just hold off sending photos like these for a few more hours, if you can._  
Victor: _Thank you, by the way. It’s a good photo. I want to hear more about this party later.  
_ Yuuri: _You might be better off asking Phichit. He remembers more of it than I do._

Victor made a mental note to do just that when he got the chance, and went back to practice, in lighter spirits than before.

* * *

 

_“Fancy hearing from you after all this time.”_

“I’m sorry, Chris. Things have been crazy lately.”

_“Too crazy to even send me a text every now and then to let me know you’re alive? What’s been going on?”_

Victor sighed, and took a sip of wine. “Too much and not enough. I don’t really have a good excuse, other than I’ve barely talked to anyone but Yuuri, this past week.”

_“And how is your adorable costume designer?”_

“He’s—” Victor leaned back, closing his eyes. “He’s incredible, Chris. Just—amazing. I was feeling kind of down yesterday, so I asked him to share a meal with me over Skype. After we ate, he ended up giving me a full cam show.”

_“Come again?”_

“He told me this long intimate story about why he was my fan, then stripped naked and let me watch him play with himself. It was the single hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed on my laptop, and you’ve seen my porn collection.”

_“Shit, Nikiforov, how did you find this boy?”_

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Chris, and I’m honestly not sure what to do. Today at practice he sent me this nude photo of him his friend took at a party, and he promised _more._ I had no idea he was like this.”

_“Surely you’re not saying it’s a bad thing?”_

“Of course not!” Victor cried. “I’m just starting to wonder what I did to deserve him, is all. He’s been nothing but supportive since I had to leave, and now he’s going to such lengths to make sure I’m taken care of, and I just…”

_“Can’t believe he’s real?”_

“Something like that. It makes me uneasy, every time I discover something new like this about him. Not because it’s bad, but because he seems _too good_ for the likes of me. I didn’t do anything to deserve him. I practically bullied him into dating me.”

_“Wait, wait, calm down, love. That’s not what you told me.”_

“I’m exaggerating,” Victor admitted. “But really, it feels like I cheated, finding someone like him.”

_“Alright, now it just sounds like you’re looking for an excuse to be pitiful. Spill it. What’s really bothering you?”_

Victor looked over at his toes, wondering how to answer that question.

_“Are you… on the toilet right now? I just heard splashing.”_

“I’m in the bath,” Victor said. “And—I don’t know, Chris. I’m retiring.”

_“Well, I knew that much already.”_

“I’m _retiring,_ and every single day it’s hitting me that I’m never going to do this again.”

_“And you’re upset about that?”_

“Not exactly,” Victor said. “I mean—yes, I’m going to miss competing. But it’s also hitting me how much about it I hate. The dieting, the muscle pain, holding my breath every time I jump, wondering if it will be the one that does me in—it’s nothing I haven’t felt before, and I always manage to break through it before the season starts, but right now it’s hitting me that _this is the last time.”_

 _“So you’re_ glad _you’re retiring? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”_

Victor brought his knees up to his chest, holding them close with his free arm. “I’m saying I don’t know how to feel about it and it’s tearing me up inside. I should be… sadder than I am. Or happier than I am. But right now I just feel so… stuck. And that’s not even _touching_ on my plans after retirement. I can’t even begin to think about that, though Yakov tells me I should.”

_“How is your coach doing, by the way? Last time I talked to you he was still in the hospital.”_

“He’s out now, and back to work,” Victor said. “But it’s his final year, too. I think if it were only me, he would have retired already. But he wanted to see Mila and Yuri through one more season.”

_“Somehow I doubt he would have left you high and dry for your last season. But he’s well?”_

“As well as can be expected. I just came from dinner at Lilia’s house, and he was grumbling as much as he always has.”

_“A dinner with the coach, huh? Don’t you usually do takeout on Sundays?”_

“I got chastised for isolating myself, so I couldn’t say no,” Victor said. “I don’t regret it. It was better than takeout and I only had to do about a third of the work. Lilia’s incredible with French cuisine.”

There was a moment of silence where neither of them seemed to know what to say. Victor swished around the foamy bubbles of his bath, wishing he knew what to do about himself. Wishing he knew the exact problem, and how to fix it.

 _“You’ll get through this, you know,”_ Chris said in his calm, soothing voice.

“I know,” Victor said. “Hey, we’ve been talking about me for too long. Tell me about you, starting with that choreographer of yours.”

Chris chuckled. _“Do you want to know about me, or him?”_

When Victor emerged from his lukewarm bath over half an hour later, he found himself feeling… content, for lack of a better word. For the first time in a while nothing felt immediately wrong with him. Even so, after he’d wrapped himself in his robe and poured himself a fresh glass of wine, Victor settled on the couch and called Yuuri’s number, his body moving almost on autopilot. Yuuri picked up after a few rings.

_“Victor.”_

“Hey lover. Thank you for the gift, earlier.”

_“Oh, hehe. Sorry again about the timing.”_

“Think nothing of it.”

_“Are you feeling alright? You sound relaxed.”_

“I won’t lie—I am pretty relaxed,” Victor said, taking another sip of wine. “I’m on my fourth glass of wine for the night, though, so that may have something to do with it.”

_“Did you enjoy your takeout?”_

“I ate with Yakov and Lilia, actually. And Yuri, too, since he lives there with them.”

_“Oh really? I didn’t know he lived with them. Did you have fun?”_

“’Fun’ isn’t exactly the word,” Victor said with a laugh. “But it was alright. I helped Lilia with her _coq au vin_ , and made some mushroom risotto to go with it.”

_“You were cooking with her?”_

“Mhm. It only started happening in the past two years or so, once Yuri started living with them. Sometimes I cook with her, sometimes I cook for them on my own. Not often, really, since we’re all so busy during certain parts of the year, but every now and then.”

 _“Sounds… nice.”_ Yuuri sounded jealous, for some reason.

“And how are you doing? I guess it’s afternoon there, still.”

 _“Yeah. I’m doing alright.”_ Victor could hear the familiar clicks of a gas stove turning on.

“Did Phichit come home yet?”

_“Not yet. He promised me he’d be back shortly after dinner, but I told him not to worry if there was anything else that came up. I turned on some music while I was working, but it’s starting to feel a little lonely in here. I’m glad you called.”_

Victor couldn’t help but smile. “What are you working on today?”

_“Going back and forth between two costumes, one for a dancer, another for a young male figure skater. The former I was pinning and sewing, the latter I was patterning. I wanted to finish the first one before Phichit came back, so he could work on the details tomorrow, but I strained my neck a little, so I had to work on something else for a while.”_

Victor frowned, concerned. “Have you taken a break at all? Are you eating?”

 _“I’m taking a break right now, thanks to you,”_ Yuuri said affectionately. _“I’m heating up my lunch.”_

“Lunch this late?" Victor asked in disbelief. "Are you having more soup?”

 _“Yeah. It’s my last portion, and it's not much, so I’ll probably eat a sandwich for dinner or something around midnight. Or if I’m feeling adventurous, I might go get some takeout for myself.”_ He laughed, a little helplessly. _“But knowing me, probably not.”_

“As long as you eat something and don’t work all night,” Victor instructed.

_“Don’t worry. With two mother hens at my shoulders, I won’t skip meals anymore.”_

Victor chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

_“So… Did assignments come in?”_

“Oh—I completely forgot to check,” Victor said, his mind jolting awake. He went over to his nightstand, where he’d left his laptop after last night’s activities. “I’m not sure if they came today, though… I just got off the phone with Chris, and I feel like he would have mentioned it.” As soon as he was able, Victor pecked out a search for the GPF assignments, and the first result was exactly what he was looking for. It was only posted ten minutes ago. “I hope your passport’s up to date, Yuuri, because it looks like I’m seeing you in Halifax.”

 _“Aw, I was hoping for something farther,”_ Yuuri pouted. _“But we’ll be near the ocean, which is nice. Not that I… really care about any of that. I just want to see you again.”_

“I’m sorry to say I won’t have much time for sight-seeing with you.”

_“You’re the sight I most want to see. I’ve been so excited to see your programs this season. Where are you going next?”_

“Looks like… Tokyo? Would you rather go there instead?”

_“Mm… Not really, to be honest. I’ve been to Tokyo before, but never Halifax. That, and if I’m going back to Japan, my family would be disappointed if I didn’t visit them.”_

“You don’t want to visit them?”

 _“It—it’s not that,”_ Yuuri said hastily. _“I just—I’d rather it be a longer trip. I want… to introduce you, the next time I see them.”_

Victor had mentioned it before as a throwaway idea, but he never expected Yuuri to bring it up again, or to be so eager about it. “Really? You want me to meet them?”

_“I mean… of course. I’ve never had anyone before, and I—I think they’d like you. And maybe if I have a guest, they won’t rope me into working as much.”_

“I’d love to meet your family, Yuuri,” Victor said warmly. “I want to share your food, see the house you grew up in, walk the streets you did as a child… I want to know everything.”

Yuuri gave a nervous laugh. _“Well, I can’t promise it’s anything special, but I’ll take you someday, if you want to go. Maybe after Worlds—Hasetsu can be beautiful in the spring and summer.”_

Victor’s chest filled with warmth at the thought. “I’d like that.”

There was a pause where Victor could hear a spoon banging on a pot. _“I think my soup is ready, so unless you want to switch to video, I should probably go.”_

“I think I should probably sleep,” Victor said, yawning to illustrate his point. “I’ll sort out the travel details in the next few days. If you could send me all your info, like your address and personal email and such, it would help me out.”

 _“Are you trying to stalk me, Nikiforov?”_ Yuuri teased. _“I’ll send it all in an email after I eat. Thank you for doing this.”_

“It’s my absolute pleasure, Yuuri. You know I’m doing this for myself as much as you—I _have_ to see you again.”

_“I know, but… I feel odd about you paying for it.”_

“I have more than enough, Yuuri, and there’s nothing more I’d rather spend my money on. Don’t you worry about spending even a penny while you’re there. I’m going to take good care of you.”

 _“I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”_ Yuuri asked with laughter in his voice. _“Alright. Send me the details when you’ve got it figured out.”_

“I will. Enjoy your lunch. I love you.”

_“I love you too, Victor. Sleep well.”_

“I’ll do my best.” Victor hung up with a smile on his face, but it faded a little as he took in the silence of his apartment. Talking with Yuuri, even briefly, did wonders for his lonely heart, but at the end of it he was always reminded that Yuuri wasn’t at his side. He didn’t get to hold him, smell him, kiss him, or take him to bed. He didn’t get to fall asleep with Yuuri at his side, and in moments like this it felt awfully unfair.

Victor fell back onto his sheets, still needing to change for bed but hardly able to care, his mind swimming with unfiltered thoughts of Yuuri. He’d never before had a lover that tore him apart at the seams the way that Yuuri did. Was this what truly being in love felt like? All his past affairs, at least in his memories, felt as though they were under a constant filter of anxiety, enjoyable but for the fear that they weren’t compatible in the ways that Victor needed. Was this what they might have felt like, absent of that fear?

But Yuuri was different. Yuuri was so different that Victor was feeling all sorts of strange new emotions—emotions he didn’t even have words for. He was nothing like Victor’s past lovers. Victor’s longing for Yuuri ran deeper than any yearning he’d ever felt before, holding him so tightly he had no means of understanding the power it held over him. Every day he felt himself inching closer and closer to throwing everything away and returning to his beloved, though Victor knew he’d never have the courage to do it. He was a patient man, and ten months wasn’t all that long to endure. But even with the thought of prematurely and disgracefully ending his career, quitting his training to spend time with Yuuri was looking more and more tantalizing as the days went by.

Yuuri would never forgive him for doing it.

If nothing else, he needed to skate for Yuuri. That was the feeling Victor needed to cultivate in his heart—if he couldn’t maintain his own motivation, he could at least do his best for his biggest fan and greatest love. He could do justice to the beautiful costumes Yuuri made for him, and give his lover the performance he deserved to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all my readers for your patience with me. I'm using this fic as part of my NaNoWriMo participation this year, with the hopes that I can finish it out before the end of the month, or at least by the end of the year. I seem to gain a handful of readers with each update, so I just want to let you know that I deeply appreciate every kudos and comment I've gotten so far. All of you that took a chance on my fic and enjoyed it so far, I'm so grateful to have you. I've always been happy enough writing for myself, but writing for others is an amazing feeling, too. I'm going to do my best not to disappoint you.
> 
> And don't worry too much about the boys. They'll all be fine.


	20. Chapter 20

“Tilt your head to the right.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Now lower your eyelids—no, not all the way. Look at the camera, still, but sort of halfway close your eyes. No, no, not like that!”

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, getting frustrated. “How, then? Show me what you mean.”

Phichit paused, and sort of relaxed his eyes, making him look sleepy.

Yuuri tried to mimic him. “Like this?”

“Yes, perfect! Now hold it for a few seconds… Okay. Good.” Phichit lowered his phone. “I need to reposition your legs.”

Yuuri groaned. “Again?”

“Just—hold on. It doesn’t look right.” Phichit hopped off the bed, and tugged on one of Yuuri’s legs until he straightened it. “Again, not all the way. Yeah, there. Good. Let me check again.” He climbed back up, standing on the mattress looking down at Yuuri, phone in position for a photo. “Okay, yeah, I think this is it. Make that same face as before.”

Yuuri tried, and Phichit snapped a couple more photos.

Phichit frowned. “Hold your mouth a different way.”

“What way?”

“I dunno. You just look too tense. Part your lips, or stick out your tongue a tiny bit.”

Yuuri let out a sigh.

“No, that! That! That was perfect. Sigh again.” Phichit held his phone ready.

Yuuri tried, but he couldn’t fight the laugh bubbling up in his throat. “This is ridiculous.”

Phichit caught the laughter, too, a giggle escaping him. “You almost had it.”

“Okay, okay, give me a minute.” Yuuri closed his eyes and breathed to suppress the laughter, and when he was sure he had it, he looked up at his friend again. “Okay. Try again.” He arranged his face the way Phichit had asked, took in a breath, and let out another soft sigh. He held his pose for a few long seconds, until Phichit lowered his phone with a grin.

“That was it.”

“Was it?”

“I’ll have to check them over, but I really think that was the one.” Phichit climbed off the bed again, and Yuuri finally sat up.

“God, that felt like it took an hour,” Yuuri groaned, loosening his stiff muscles.

“Not quite,” Phichit said, finger sliding across his phone screen. “Are we doing any more today?”

“That was seven, wasn’t it? So we’re good for this week? Unless you have any other good ideas we can do quickly.”

Phichit bit his lip in thought. “Well, you said you wanted to hold off on the nudes…”

“Yeah,” Yuuri shrugged off his open hoodie and went in search of a shirt. “Just a little sexy, for now.”

“Not that I hate helping, but why are you doing this again? I get that it’s for Victor, but... one every day?”

Yuuri tugged a shirt over his head, the hem getting caught on his glasses and nearly knocking them off. “He needs… _something._ I don’t know if this will help, but I want to do it for him.”

“Needs something… for what?”

Yuuri finally got his head through the hole, and adjusted his glasses. “He said… Sometimes he forgets that I’m real. I want to make it so he doesn’t have a chance to forget.”

“So you’re sending him a different photo every day?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “He’s been so down lately, and there’s only so much I can do from here to help cheer him up. I don’t know if it’s helping or not, but at least he seems to appreciate them.” He smiled at his friend. “Thanks for helping.”

“It’s my pleasure, Yuuri,” Phichit said affectionately. “You know I love taking photos of you. If you want to get really elaborate, we can book Leo’s studio and get access to his prop closet. I’ll bet there are a ton of ideas we could come up with there.”

“I’m not… maybe not yet,” Yuuri said, though that _did_ spark an idea. “Casual photos for now.”

Phichit grinned. “Elaborately posed, carefully costumed, slightly edited casual photos?”

“You know what I mean,” Yuuri muttered. He reached up in a stretch, then fell forward to reach his toes, groaning at the struggle.

Warm hands touched the small of his back. “Do you need a massage?”

Yuuri froze.

“No?” Phichit stepped away, clearly reading Yuuri’s body language.

“It’s not that I don’t want one,” Yuuri said, slowly straightening. “Your massages are a gift from heaven. But I feel strange about it.”

“It’s not any more intimate than sleeping with me, Yuuri,” Phichit pointed out. “I can’t imagine Victor would be upset by it, at any rate.”

“I know, but…” Yuuri rubbed his neck, trying to find the words. He decided it was too important to talk around it. “I get… really aroused when you touch me like that, almost like my body expects sex afterward. And I don’t want it to be awkward.”

Phichit’s expression turned serious. “Yuuri…” He grabbed Yuuri’s hand and pressed it up against his crotch. He was… solidly hard. Yuuri wrenched his hand away in a panic.

“What are you doing?!”

Phichit smiled sadly. “I’m trying to explain to you, Yuuri, that we’re not our bodies. We can’t decide how they’re going to react. I get turned-on when I take photos of you. It doesn’t mean I want to do anything with you, especially not something that would put a strain on your relationship with Victor. It’s not cheating to get aroused—if it were, most healthy young men on this planet would be guilty of it. If the fact that your body reacts to a massage makes it too awkward for you, I won’t try to pressure you into it. But if the only objection you have is that you feel guilty because it makes you feel good, maybe think it over a little.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “Taking photos of me turns you on?”

Phichit raised his hands defensively, his cheeks going red. “It—it’s not like that! It has less to do with you and more the fact that you’re modeling for me. You just… do everything I say. It’s weirdly arousing. Leo thinks I have some sort of power kink, but I dunno.” He hugged himself, looking aside. “Sorry if I made it weird.”

“No, it’s just—” Yuuri paused, sorting out the words he wanted to say. “It’s not weird. It’s a little surprising, though. I mean—I always knew you liked taking photos, but I figured that was just a hobby that rubbed off from Leo.”

“It’s the model part, not the photos,” Phichit said. “I mean, I like taking photos, but that’s not what gets me all bothered. I say, move your arm over your head, you move your arm over your head. I say tilt your head, you tilt your head. I say straighten your back and pop your booty, you straighten your back and pop it. It makes me feel… powerful.” He groaned and covered his face. “Oh god, I have a power kink, don’t I?”

Yuuri laughed, and pulled Phichit’s hands from his face. “It’s okay, Phichit.”

“I was just trying to make a point and I ended up making everything weird!” he cried. “I ruined your project.”

“No, no,” Yuuri said gently, and pulled Phichit into an embrace, stroking his hair. “It’s not weird, and you didn’t ruin anything. To be honest… I kind of had an inkling already.”

Phichit pulled away to look Yuuri in the face. “How?”

“Tell me it wasn’t a coincidence that we almost always had sex after I modeled for you,” Yuuri said. “I secretly loved being in front of the camera, you secretly got turned on behind it… I feel like in different professions, we would’ve been quite the power couple. Photographer and model, taking over the world and having crazy sex afterward.”

They held out just a few seconds before laughter took over, Phichit hugging his middle throwing his head back, Yuuri doubled over.

“Could you imagine?” Phichit gasped.

“I can’t,” Yuuri said breathlessly. “I really can’t.”

When they caught their breaths, Phichit’s face sobered. “I’m sorry, though. For making you touch me like that, I mean. I think a part of me still feels like things are the same as they used to be.”

Yuuri shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I understand you were just trying to make a point, and it was a fair one.”

“But I shouldn’t be trying to convince you to do something you’re not comfortable with,” Phichit said.

Yuuri laughed. “But that’s been the basis of our friendship since you first moved in.”

Phichit didn’t laugh with him. “Yeah but… This is different. I was being selfish, because I _do_ like giving you massages, but I admit they’ve always had a sort of sexual undertone for us. So… if you’re not comfortable with me giving one while you’re with Victor, I understand completely.”

Yuuri patted his shoulder in reassurance. “I get it. It’s just… I don’t know. This whole thing with Victor happened so fast. He came and left like lightning, and you… You’ve always been there with me. Sometimes it feels like nothing’s changed, but in other ways, I’m really aware of it. We never really set boundaries. He says I can share a bed with you, but what else is allowed? What would be too far? I don’t know.” He sat heavily on the foot of the bed.

“I don’t think what’s allowed is what’s important,” Phichit said, falling in beside him. “What’s important is how you feel about it. Does it feel like cheating to you? If so, we probably shouldn’t do it. If you’re really unsure, ask him what he’s comfortable with. But Victor’s an easygoing guy—I can’t imagine he’d get upset at most of what we do. It’ll probably mostly come down to you.”

Yuuri smiled weakly. “I suppose you’re right. Let me… think about the massages, alright? I do want them, and I really appreciate them, but I need to work out in my mind how to disconnect them from the beautiful sex we used to have.”

Phichit took Yuuri’s hand in a warm grasp, smiling wistfully. “It was pretty great, wasn’t it? In the moment I always wondered why it didn’t happen more often.”

“I wasn’t good enough,” Yuuri said, lacing their fingers together. “You were an amazing partner, and I didn’t do enough to appreciate you.”

“You really didn’t,” Phichit said with a laugh. “After that first time, I always wondered whether you _actually_ wanted me or not. Because at first you were sweet and caring, and really seemed to enjoy yourself, but then you just—shut off. I didn’t know what to think.”

“I didn’t, either,” Yuuri admitted. “You were my first, but we never really talked about what we were to each other. I didn’t know what the expectations were, so I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. Not until that last time, and we actually talked about it.”

“Yeah…” Phichit took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I… need to tell you something.”

“Are you finally going to talk about what happened on your weekend off?”

Phichit opened his mouth, then closed it, looking suddenly worried. Yuuri suddenly felt bad about jumping to conclusions, because this was clearly too serious for his teasing.

Yuuri squeezed Phichit’s hand. “What is it?”

“I…” Phichit pressed his lips together, then set his chin. “I have… this complex about you. One that I think I’ve had for a long time, but it’s become harder to deal with in recent weeks.”

Yuuri blinked, confused. “A complex?”

Phichit nodded miserably. “I think a part of me is in love with you. I mean—I _do_ love you, that’s not even a question, but lately I’ve wondered if I always had different expectations for us. When I moved in, I didn’t really think about falling in love or anything romantic… I was just grateful for a job and a place to live, so I didn’t have to go back home. But the more I got to know you, the more we connected, the more I started to see you like I saw Leo and Guang-Hong. Not quite the same dynamic, obviously, but I cared for you about as much as I cared for them.

“I… didn’t think I needed romance in my life. I loved my friends, and they satisfied me sexually, and I thought that was all I needed. And then Victor Nikiforov shows up at our doorstep, and my perception of everything gets thrown into chaos.”

Phichit paused, and Yuuri’s patience wore thin. He had been hanging on every word, and felt a desperate need to understand. “What do you mean?”

Phichit gave a pained smile. “I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did. As you fell in love, this other side of you came out. You were… sparkling, sometimes. He made you anxious, sure, but when you two were together, or when I caught you thinking about him, you had this amazing light in your eyes that made you so, _so_ beautiful to me. A part of me thought, where has this been, all this time? Why did I never get to see it?

“I was… jealous, in a way. I denied it for a while, but trying to bury it just made me push away the people that wanted to help, including you. I didn’t want to even think about how I felt, because I knew it would be ugly, and I didn’t want my shit to put any sort of stain on your relationship with Victor. You two had enough problems, so I thought, if I pretended nothing was wrong, everything would be fine.”

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, so familiar with that form of rationalizing that it pained him just to hear Phichit describe it. “So when that didn’t work… what happened?”

“Eventually Leo got me to spill my guts, and not long after I told Guang-Hong, and Leo took both of us to that hotel last weekend to figure things out.”

“And… did it help?” Yuuri asked, his chest tight.

“In a way,” Phichit said. “I can’t just… forget the way I feel about you. But it helped me understand that a big part of what I’m feeling isn’t really jealousy of Victor—I’m jealous of your love. I’m jealous of how crazy fast it happened, how you two just seemed to connect and latch onto each other, how you two constantly worry about each other and can’t stand to be apart. I’m jealous you two just barely had to open your eyes to see how compatible you were. It’s like a fairytale, how it all happened, and I wish… I wish it were me. I wish _we_ had loved like that. I wish I could love _anyone_ like that, or someone could love me in return… because it really is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, and it’s transformed you.”

Phichit stopped talking, and Yuuri was silent as his mind raced, trying to process all of this. His thoughts felt scrambled, and he really had no idea how to respond, until Phichit squeezed his hand, and Yuuri instantly squeezed back. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I didn’t mean to make you jealous.”

Phichit breathed out a laugh. “An apology is the last thing I wanted from you. _I_ should be apologizing to _you,_ for dumping all of this on you. But I promised Leo I would tell you how I felt, because it really was tearing me up inside, trying to pretend like I was okay. I want you to know this, though—in no universe do I wish you and Victor break up. I’m cheering you on for as long as he makes you happy, because I know there’s not a single soul on this earth who could light you up like he can.”

“Phichit…” Yuuri felt unwelcome tears stinging at his eyes, and he tried to blink them away, but only seemed to make them worse. “I don’t deserve a friend like you.”

“How could you listen to all that mess and still say that?” Phichit asked, his voice cracking. “I’m awful. I’m a horrible friend.”

“You’re not,” Yuuri insisted. “You’re amazing. You were feeling all of this, and you still… cared for me, like you always have. I say ‘I want to do this for Victor,’ and you immediately help me with it, despite how you feel.”

Phichit frowned. “That’s… I mean, of _course_ I’m helping you. I want you to be happy.”

“A horrible friend wouldn’t want that. A horrible friend wouldn’t have even told me the truth.” Yuuri sniffed. “ _I’ve_ been the horrible friend for not paying more attention.”

“No, Yuuri,” Phichit said gently, reclaiming his hand and pulling Yuuri close. “You tried, remember? You tried to help me, to get me to talk about it, and I hid it away. I was so afraid of ruining what we had. I was afraid of making things weird and awkward. I was… afraid of it ruining anything you had with Victor, even a little bit. For a while, I didn’t even know what I was feeling that had me so upset, because I refused to open that box out of fear. What you and I have together is one of the most important things in my life, and I didn’t want to lose you over stupid feelings like this.”

“They’re not stupid,” Yuuri said, snaking his arm around and hugging back. He felt so many swirling emotions that it was hard to think, but at least he knew what he had to say. “They’re beautiful, like you are. You care so much about me, about all of this, that you hurt yourself to protect it all.”

“I’m not—I—I wasn’t…” Phichit spluttered, then burst into tears, heavy sobs escaping his throat. “I’m s-sorry, Yuuri.”

Yuuri turned his body to better hold his friend, and gently rubbed circles into his back. “I’m only as happy as I am now because of you. Because of your kind heart. You helped heal a wound I held onto for years, and then pushed me to open myself to him. Without you, I would have never fallen in love. I owe so much to you. If I could give you what you needed, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

Phichit pulled away. “Yuuri, no, don’t say—”

“Shh.” Yuuri put a finger to Phichit’s lips. “I would, but you and I both know that I can’t. What you want… It just didn’t happen between us. We had our chance, but something was missing. I never had a doubt in my mind that I loved you, but you and I… We’re not like that. You deserve someone who can give you the world, and I could never come close.”

“You gave me a chance, when I was so sure I’d have to go back,” Phichit said. “You let me into your home, you gave me a job doing what I love…”

“And you saved my life,” Yuuri said. “I think I got the better end of the deal, here.”

Phichit gave a watery laugh, more tears leaking out of his eyes. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” Yuuri said easily. “I want nothing more for you than to find that love you’re looking for. I want you to be happy.”

Phichit shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “I _am_ happy. That was something I figured out last weekend. I was too caught up wishing for something I couldn’t have that I forgot to look around me and see how great my life actually is. Leo and Guang-Hong… they’re incredible friends. I treated them so badly for weeks and they still gave me exactly what I needed. I… still don’t quite know how to feel about everything, but I feel better than I did. I feel even better now that you know the truth, and don’t hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you,” Yuuri said, cupping Phichit’s face and wiping the rest of the tears away. “Never. You’re my first lover, my caretaker, my best friend.” He leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to Phichit’s in a brief, closed-mouth kiss. “My partner. Always.”

Phichit sniffed, and gifted Yuuri with a beautiful smile. “Always.”

They grinned at each other, using the last of their emotional energy to laugh at the sweetness of the moment. When Yuuri finally rose, his head felt in a daze.

“I’m going to go wash my face,” Phichit said, his voice still a little weak. “Do you… want to go out to dinner with me?”

Yuuri smiled. “I’d love to.”

As soon as the bathroom door closed, Yuuri fell back down onto the bed, feeling drained about everything he’d just learned. How hard must it have been for Phichit, keeping all of that inside for so long? And how had Yuuri been so oblivious to it? His awkwardness about the massages seemed so unimportant now, compared to Phichit’s feelings.

A part of Yuuri _did_ wish he could give Phichit what he wanted, but he knew it was impossible. Even if Yuuri had never fallen in love with Victor, he couldn’t have fallen in love with Phichit the same way. It just… wouldn’t have happened. Yuuri couldn’t articulate exactly how he knew that, but his heart told him it was the truth. There was something missing between them, some spark or chemistry or whatever word people used to describe that sort of love. Yuuri knew what it felt like, even if he couldn’t put it to words, and he’d simply never felt that with Phichit.

Phichit deserved that sort of love.

Phichit deserved everything.

* * *

 

“So, when are you going to send it?”

Yuuri had been leaning on a table, staring at the Queen costume on its dressform for a few minutes now, as he’d done regularly for the past three days. “I don’t know…”

“You finished it, Yuuri,” Phichit said, standing behind him and putting his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders. “The collar is perfect. The stones are perfect. What are you waiting for?”

“It doesn’t _feel_ perfect,” Yuuri said. “It’s missing something.”

“I don’t think so,” Phichit said. “I think it’s beautiful.”

It _was_ beautiful, even to Yuuri’s self-critical eye. It was probably the best costume he’d ever completed all on his own—a good showcase of the skills he’d worked to develop over the years, both in design and construction. The jacket had a deceptive weight to it, the layers of delicate fabrics creating an illusion of thickness and formality, when the garment was actually quite light and breathable. Every stitch was perfect, every centimeter of white trim uniform and neat. The jacket flared out at the hips into large coattails that showed off the shimmering white lining, and all along the left side was Yuuri’s rose pattern, carefully drawn with tiny, sparkling Swarovski crystals. The collar opened widely to reveal a cascade of black feathers that reached out towards the shoulders, glued with the utmost care to ensure that not a single one would bother Victor’s neck as he moved. It had stiff interfacing and was tacked down to ensure it retained its shape, and Yuuri had tucked a few of his extra crystals into the feathers to draw more attention to them.

It had been so much work. Frustrating work. But seeing the completed costume in front of him cemented that it had all been worth it. He couldn’t wait to watch Victor skate in it.

Except something was missing, and Yuuri had no idea what it was.

He’d developed a handful of theories as he stared at it the past few days, and narrowed it down to the right side simply being too plain. The vast expanse of black weighed it down too much, but Yuuri didn’t have enough crystals to mirror the pattern. Not that he wanted to do that, anyway, considering he really liked the current asymmetry.

Asymmetry. Balance. Something needed to go on the right side.

Roses.

“I need to go shopping,” Yuuri said suddenly, and made his way upstairs to grab his keys.

“Where are you going?” Phichit called after him.

“Craft store,” Yuuri said on his way back down. “Want to come with me?”

Phichit gave him a blank look. “Uh… sure?”

Yuuri tossed him the keys. “Good. I can research while you drive.”

“Research what?”

But Yuuri’s mind was already racing towards his goal, Phichit’s words not really registering as a question to him.

Yuuri had his phone out as they drove, cursing his crappy signal as pages slowly loaded. He looked for materials, methods, tools—absorbing a breadth of information and formulating his own plan in his mind. He’d need silver chain. Gems. Probably wire, though he wasn’t sure. The glue they had might work, but he’d get something a little stronger, just in case. Did they have small pliers? Of course they did, but where?

As soon as Phichit put the car in park, Yuuri dashed out, words of his mental list repeating in his head. He darted from aisle to aisle, picking up the easier things first before heading to the jewelry section, where he actually had to think.

“You should have at least grabbed a handbasket,” Phichit said, one-by-one plucking the items out of Yuuri’s arms and dropping them in the basket. “What are we working on?”

“Roses,” Yuuri said, picking up a little packet of gems and angling it towards the light.

Phichit frowned as Yuuri tossed the packet in the basket. “Made from stones?”

“Fabric. Stones attached. Chains, too. Chains, chains, chains…” Yuuri’s muttering petered off as he looked around for chains, finally finding them off in a corner.

Phichit followed him closely. “So you’re making fabric roses, adding stones and chains… A brooch? You’re making a brooch for the costume?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said, holding out two different chains to test how they looked in the light. He looked over at Phichit, and held both of them up to his black shirt.

“Ah, I get it. That way if he doesn’t like it, he can take it off and stick with the original design. Not that I think he would.”

“He won’t.” Yuuri put one of the chains back, and slipped the other one into the basket before looking around again.

“What are you searching for?” Phichit asked.

“Pin backs.”

“Over here.” Phichit guided Yuuri around to the end of the aisle. “I can tell you’re on a mission here and probably don’t want it, but I can help with the tedious stuff. How are you making the roses?”

“I’m using the lining material.”

Phichit cringed. “That stuff is _so_ finicky, though. It’ll fray so badly.”

Yuuri was torn between using two smaller pinbacks or one big one. “I’m doubling up the fabric and sealing it with Fraycheck.”

“Wait—you’re going to _sew_ those tiny petals? Are you insane? It’ll take forever!”

“Not if I get started today,” Yuuri said.

Phichit shook his head in disbelief. “You’re insane. You’re actually insane. Have you even done this before?”

“Nope.” Yuuri ended up throwing a variety of pinbacks into the basket, putting off the decision until he knew what the final result would look like. “I think that’s all I need. Do you know where our little pliers are, or should I buy some backups?”

As soon as they arrived back at the workshop, Yuuri sat down and got to work. On the way home he’d skimmed through a couple of tutorial videos and gotten the gist of how people constructed fabric roses, but he needed to make the petals first, which was decidedly the hard part. He didn’t want to compromise on the fabric, despite Phichit’s valid concerns, because he needed it to be as perfect as the costume itself.

Yuuri dug through their box of unsorted fabric scraps to find the leftovers from Victor’s costume. They still had some of the lining left on the bolt, but the petals were small enough that Yuuri figured he could make enough from the scraps. He collected a few handfuls, and took them back to his worktable.

Working with rough sketches he’d designed, Yuuri sewed petal shapes onto the doubled-up scraps, carefully cut out the shapes, getting as close to the stiches as he dared, before carefully applying Fraycheck to the entire perimeter.

“You’re actually doing it,” Phichit said sometime later, a mug of tea in his hands. “How’s it coming?”

“About as frustrating as we expected,” Yuuri said. “I had four petals come apart on me as I turned them right-side out.”

“These are so tiny,” Phichit said, tapping his finger on the table.

“Those are for the smaller roses,” Yuuri said. He was using pliers to bend a thin stretch of wire into the petal shape. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to take a break and eat dinner,” Phichit said. “I’ve made up some fried rice.”

“Is that what I’m smelling?” He slid the wire into the fabric petal, checked it fit all the way to the edges, and trimmed the ends of the wire, leaving a couple centimeters extra.

“Yup. I knew if I made something that smelled good I could entice you away from your very important work for a few minutes.”

“It _is_ very important,” Yuuri insisted, and put his finished petal down with the others. Looking down at his work, he realized he wasn’t even halfway done with this part, and let out a sigh. “I guess I should call it for today. I’m not finishing this tonight.”

Phichit gasped. “Do my ears deceive me? Yuuri Katsuki is actually admitting defeat? Has the world shifted? Is it going to snow tonight?”

Yuuri threw an arm around Phichit’s shoulders. “You know a little fatigue has never stopped me before. It’s not admitting defeat—it’s admitting that this is really tedious, frustrating work, and I shouldn’t attempt it if I’m tired. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“Much more reasonable,” Phichit said, and kissed Yuuri’s cheek. “Let’s watch a movie tonight.”

“You’re not going out?” Yuuri asked. “Tomorrow’s your day off.”

“Leo’s working early. I’m going to the gym and the rink with Guang-Hong, then the three of us will eat dinner together.”

Yuuri still wondered what exactly had happened during their weekend together, but Phichit had been oddly secretive about it, even after confessing so much to Yuuri. It felt like there was something there, something Phichit was afraid to talk about—not just with Yuuri, but in general. Yuuri had resigned to the fact that Phichit would tell him when he was ready, and no sooner, and stopped pushing him about it.

Even without knowing that particular thing, though, Yuuri had never felt closer to his partner. Not only had Phichit returned to his usual cheerful self, but he also seemed more affectionate in that platonic way that Yuuri loved, always touching Yuuri’s shoulders, his hair, his arms. They always held each other at night. Yuuri had finally consented to a massage the day before, and while it _did_ arouse him, their conversation during had been so normal and mundane that sex was pretty far from Yuuri’s mind by the time it was over.

Even as they did something as normal as watching a bad movie on Netflix, Phichit cuddled up against Yuuri. But at times like that, Yuuri couldn’t help but wish that Victor were there, too.

“Is that your phone?” Phichit asked.

Yuuri had to pause the movie to actually hear anything, but sure enough, a faint buzzing could be heard from where he’d left his phone on the kitchen bar. “It’s probably Victor.”

“Of course it’s Victor,” Phichit said, moving over to give Yuuri space to get up. He yawned. “God, what a shitty movie.”

Yuuri had to race to grab his phone before it went to voicemail, but managed just in time. “Hello?”

_“Sorry, were you busy?”_

“No, not at all,” Yuuri said, going towards the stairs. “We were just watching a movie.”

_“Oh. Sorry for interrupting.”_

“N-no, don’t be. It was awful. Sometimes Phichit and I play this game where we try to find the worst-sounding movie on Netflix, and see how long we can stand watching it.” Yuuri sat down at the base of the staircase. “You did me a favor, really. Is something wrong?”

_“No. I just had the idea of starting my day listening to your voice.”_

“It’s so early. Could you not sleep?”

_“No, I slept fine. I just have a meeting with some sponsors this morning and I like to take my time to prepare. But I also wanted to call you first, before it got too late for you.”_

Yuuri was undeniably giddy, his lips stretching into a smile almost of their own accord. “Oh.”

_“How was your day? What were you working on?”_

“A secret,” Yuuri said. “You’ll see soon enough, if it works out.”

_“I can’t imagine what it could be, but I look forward to it. Did you eat well?”_

“Phichit was with me all day, so he made sure I ate. Sandwiches for lunch, fried rice for dinner.”

_“And how is Phichit? Is he doing better?”_

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder at the open apartment door, and made his way deeper into the workshop, lowering his voice a little. “Oh… Yeah, he’s fine. I guess I haven’t mentioned it yet, but we talked a lot the other day, and he finally told me what had been bothering him.”

_“He told you about his feelings, then?”_

Yuuri blinked in surprise. “Huh? How did you…?”

_“I guessed, and confronted him about it before I left. I assumed he would have told you sooner, but I suppose he was being understandably careful. I apologize for not saying anything before, but I thought it best to have him tell you on his own.”_

“N-no. I—I mean, I’m not upset you didn’t tell me. Just… surprised you knew. I had no idea. I felt like such an awful friend for not realizing sooner.”

_“Don’t feel bad about that. It was only made clear to me because of how protective he was of you, which he wouldn’t have let you see. He’s a good friend to you, and I hope you were able to work things out.”_

“Ye-yeah. We’re good now. I’m still a little worried about him, since there are a few things he won’t talk about with me, but I don’t feel like anything’s wrong anymore.”

_“I’m glad,_ ” Victor said earnestly. _“I hated knowing how strained things were between you.”_

“How have you been?” Yuuri asked. “Your texts have been a little vague.”

_“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. There’s not much to say, really. I work, same as always. Progress is slow, but I’ve never been one to improve by leaps and bounds over the course of days. It’s little refinements, every day I’m able.”_

“As long as you’re happy enough with your progress.”

_“I can’t ask for more, really. From here on out, all the major decisions have been made, and all I can do is chisel them down, little by little, until they’re perfect.”_

“And you still won’t tell me the song you chose for your Free Skate?”

_“Now, where’s the fun in that?”_ Victor asked with a laugh. _“I need to leave some surprises for you, Yuuri.”_

“Your skating will already be a surprise,” Yuuri pouted. “How’s Yuri doing?”

_“Still strangely tolerant of me. Still asking my advice. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”_

“Maybe it’s because you’re retiring?” Yuuri offered. “He realizes he’s losing his opportunity to really get to know you, so he might be making an effort before he runs out of time.”

_“Maybe… Still seems odd to me, but I guess I can’t complain. At least he’s not throwing tantrums any time I mention his name. I still can’t shake the feeling someone put him up to this, though.”_

“I still wouldn’t rule out my theory. Who doesn’t want to get close to a living legend when they have the chance?”

Victor chuckled. _“I know a certain someone who had the chance, and slammed the door in my face.”_

“That’s different,” Yuuri said dismissively, though he still flushed at the memory.

_“I hate to cut this short, but I should probably get ready. These stiffs always like it when I make an effort.”_

“Why make an effort? You’re beautiful no matter what you do.”

_“You flatter me,”_ Victor said affectionately. _“I miss you, love.”_

Those words never failed to pierce right through Yuuri’s heart. “I miss you too. Don’t make them fall in love with you too much.”

_“Heh. I’ll do my best. Sleep well, Yuuri.”_

“I’ll try. Good luck with your sponsors. I love you.”

_“Thank you. I love you too.”_

Yuuri stood in the silence for a moment, then trudged his way back upstairs. Phichit was still on the couch, scrolling through something on his phone, but immediately looked up when Yuuri approached.

“Hey. How was it?”

Yuuri fell onto the couch and flopped over, resting his head on Phichit’s lap.

Phichit’s hand went automatically to Yuuri’s hair. “What is it? Is it bad?”

Yuuri sighed at the touch. “Everything’s fine. I just miss him.”

“Poor thing.” Phichit’s fingers combed through Yuuri’s hair in steady strokes, considerably soothing Yuuri’s aching heart. “Want to keep watching?”

“No. But turn it on anyway. We should at least know how it ends.”

Phichit reached over for the remote and pressed play. “I think I’m rooting for the aliens, at this point.”

“Me too. Those idiots don’t deserve to win.”

“Hunky main character guy will probably survive, though,” Phichit said with a sigh. “It’s a shame. I was looking forward to hearing him scream.”

Yuuri closed his eyes as Phichit resumed his gentle petting. “Sadist.”

Phichit laughed. “Only for idiots like him.”

Yuuri never did find out who won, as he fell asleep well before the end, lulled by Phichit’s hand.

* * *

 

The next day Yuuri went straight back to work, determined to finish the brooch before the day was out. In the absence of Phichit he turned on the playlist of Victor’s skating music, including the latest version of Victor’s new song. Yuuri hummed along, wondering if he could ask Victor for a full translation of the lyrics.

Yuuri also wondered what Victor’s other song was. He suspected it to be a famous song, or Victor wouldn’t be so secretive about it, but that obviously didn’t narrow it down any. Victor had chosen a variety of songs over the years, spanning from opera and classical to musicals to pop music and rock… He’d said once in an interview that his musical choices were based on whatever happened to inspire him at the time, and he was always looking for new inspiration. Yuuri also gathered that Victor chose songs that would surprise people—if he did opera for one program, he might choose something more modern for the other.

Whatever it was, though, Yuuri knew it would be glorious, pure, unfiltered Victor, and that was a sight he desperately wanted to see.

Once Yuuri had all the petals made, putting together the roses proved a lot less frustrating, even if it was time consuming work. He constructed the small ones first, since they had fewer petals and could be more easily redone if necessary. Working slowly and carefully proved to be the key, and the first one was a success, but he got cocky on the second one and ended up ruining one of the larger petals. He took a break after that.

The larger rose took the better part of an hour to assemble, and once it was finished, Yuuri set it aside to cure. He returned to the smaller ones to open them up a little, carefully and delicately bending the wires of the tiny petals back with his pliers. He’d do the same for the larger one when the glue had set more, but for now, he had to think of his next step.

Yuuri had considered a few options for the base, but at the craft store yesterday a stick of light balsa wood seemed optimal. It was sturdy enough to hold a brooch together, and it wouldn’t weigh it down too much, lessening the potential strain on the fabric of the costume. He pulled out one of the few remaining scraps of lining fabric, cut it to size, and glued it to the stick, creating little pleats as he did so. Into those pleats he threaded four tiny silver rings, two on either end of the base, and measured out two short lengths of chain, which he then attached to the rings, allowing them to dangle off the bottom of the brooch. He finished it off the base by gluing a vertical pin back on each end, and set it aside.

And, since he had nothing else to do until the glue cured, Yuuri took a break to eat.

He texted Phichit just to check up on him, then texted Victor to ask after _him,_ but neither of them responded. Yuuri didn’t hold it against them, obviously, but he couldn’t help feeling a little lonely with no one to talk to.

How had this happened? Yuuri used to _seek_ isolation like this. He didn’t mind people as a general rule, but he often preferred to be alone, always more comfortable in his own mind. But now…

Well, it was pretty obvious what had changed. But it was the first time Yuuri truly acknowledged the emptiness of being alone. How sad would he be, how lost, if he never saw Phichit or Victor again? How much of himself, his happiness, was tied up with the both of them? Where once he lived precariously on just his work, now it seemed as though he was being hoisted up and firmly supported by three pillars—his work, his best friend, and his lover—and he couldn’t imagine living without any of the three.

Yuuri turned on the music again after he’d eaten, and went straight back to work, feeling refreshed and confident he could finish everything that day. He started by testing the pinbacks on the fabric of the costume, making sure the scale was adequate and that the chains looked right against the black. Satisfied with that, he spent a long time curling the petals of the large silk rose until it was _just right,_ surprised that the final product looked so much like a real rose, if one ignored the shine of the fabric. He wrapped white ribbon around the three roses, and glued the whole lot together. With tweezers he artistically added some of the sparkling gems to simulate dewdrops, and before he realized it, he was completely finished.

He carefully held the brooch up to the jacket, and knew right away that the roses solved the problem. He would wait until the glue had set more before attaching it, but for all intents and purposes, he was entirely finished with Victor’s costume.

Victor’s new song came up on the playlist again, and Yuuri felt a bittersweet ache at the fact that he was finished. For weeks a not-insignificant portion of his life had been dedicated to making costumes for the love of his life, and now he was done. Of course there was always more work for him to do, but he would no longer be working for Victor, and there was a very distinct difference between the two in Yuuri’s mind. Working for Victor allowed Yuuri to tap into a well of creative energy he didn’t often get to use, and he doubted his ability to carry any of it over to a project for anyone else. He could only wonder when he’d get to do it again.

Filled with emotions he needed to express, Yuuri carefully set aside the brooch and went upstairs in search of stationery. He was sure Phichit kept some in his desk, and eventually he found some hiding in the bottom drawer. He snagged a pen from the cup on top, and went back downstairs to where his music was still gently playing from his laptop speakers.

“We should get speakers down here,” he mused to himself, but filed away that thought for later. He had words he needed to say, and he began putting them to paper.

Yuuri had no idea what time it was when Phichit returned, but he had been writing a long time, starting over a few times and eventually deciding to type his words out before handwriting them. He’d finally decided on what to say and was carefully copying the letter when Phichit came home.

“Didn’t expect you back tonight,” Yuuri said in greeting.

“They were both too tired after dinner,” Phichit said, walking up to Yuuri. “Writing a letter?”

“To Victor,” Yuuri said, concentrating too hard to look up. “I’m going to put it with his costume.”

“That’s sweet.” Phichit leaned over. “You write like a Japanese person.”

Yuuri finally looked up, casually covering his words with his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Phichit shook his head. “Nothing bad. Your strokes—they just remind me of kanji, is all. The hooks and the straight lines… D-don’t worry—I’m not saying it’s messy, or anything! Just unique.”

Yuuri frowned at his writing. He’d thought it was fairly normal, all things considered, but he supposed he could see Phichit’s point.

“Did you finish the brooch?” Phichit asked.

“Y-yeah.” Yuuri pointed over to where it rested on a table near Victor’s costume.

Phichit went over to inspect it, then gasped. “Yuuri, this is _gorgeous_. Did it take you all day?”

“Most of it,” Yuuri said.

“Can I pick it up?”

Yuuri nodded. “If you’re careful.”

Phichit cradled it in his hands, turning it this way and that to catch the light. “This is so well made. Victor’s so lucky. I wish I had something like this.”

“What would you do with a brooch?”

“I dunno, just—it’s so nice! And you made it by hand!” Phichit carefully put it down. “I guess I don’t want _that_ specifically, but knowing someone made something like that just for me… it would be really nice.”

“It’s just part of the costume,” Yuuri said.

“It’s part of the costume for _Victor,”_ Phichit corrected. “You wouldn’t have worked this hard for anyone else.”

Yuuri couldn’t argue with that, so he went back to writing. “Sorry I stole some of your stationery.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I hardly use it, anyway.” Phichit put his bag down on the floor and sat down, phone in hand.

Yuuri finished copying the last sentence of his letter, and quickly read it over. When he was satisfied it was good enough, he folded it neatly and slid it into the matching envelope. “How was dinner?”

“Not bad,” Phichit said. “We went out for pizza.”

“Guang-Hong’s coach doesn’t have him on a diet?”

Phichit laughed. “Are you kidding? Guang-Hong does almost two hours of cardio every day, on top of his normal skating practice. He can’t eat enough to keep up, sometimes. Last year, his coach got onto him about being underweight, so he trained his stomach to take in bigger meals, just to stay within normal range.”

“Wow, really? Why so much cardio, though?”

“For endurance,” Phichit said. “That’s his greatest competitive edge, since he doesn’t have the most powerful jumps. Do you… want any help with that?”

Yuuri was carefully pinning the brooch onto the costume. “If you want to help me setup for the photo…”

It took them just a short while to set up the lights and backdrop, and Yuuri handled the mannequin while Phichit took the photos. Normally, for an elaborate costume like this, Phichit liked to borrow one of Leo’s cameras, but Yuuri didn’t want to delay shipping it any further. He reasoned that Victor wearing the costume would be better advertising than any faceless catalog photo, anyway.

When they took all the photos they could, Yuuri carefully disassembled the costume, and took it over to the table they used for packing. Phichit already had a box with tissue paper ready for it.

“It really is an amazing costume,” Phichit said, folding the pants and putting them in first. “I’m almost sad to see it go—I was getting used to having it in the workshop.”

Yuuri neatly folded the jacket and placed it atop the second layer of tissue paper Phichit laid out. “I know what you mean. As frustrating as it was, I’m going to miss working on it. The King costume was good, but it was mostly playing off of what I knew. This one, though—it challenged me. It’s been a while since I’ve had one like that.”

“Are you saying I should make more complex designs from now on?” Phichit teased.

“No. In fact, if I only have to make patterns for bodices for the next couple of months, I’ll be happy.” Yuuri tightly crinkled up a piece of tissue paper, molding it into a cradle for the brooch.

“Are you going to send it by express?”

“He paid us enough,” Yuuri said. “Might as well. I want to minimize the time it spends in other people’s hands, anyway.”

Phichit went over to Yuuri’s laptop. “Want me to do the shipping label?”

“Yeah, if you want,” Yuuri said. “All his info is in the spreadsheet, including customs information and insurance value. Just make sure you don’t send it to the wrong printer.” He folded over the excess tissue, put the lid on the box, picked it up, and shook it a bit. It still moved too much, so he pulled the lid off and folded in more paper, tucking it tightly into the sides.

Phichit laughed. “You mean you _don’t_ want me to print a ten-foot, banner-sized shipping label?”

“It might ensure it gets there, but it’d be a little hard for the postal worker to scan, I think.” Yuuri slipped his letter into the folds near the top, so Victor would see it first when he opened the box. How would Victor react to the costume? Yuuri had never sent him pictures, even though for any other client he would have, as Victor trusted him completely and wanted to be surprised. Yuuri hoped he’d done a good enough job to surprise him.

“What if he doesn’t like it?” Yuuri asked, closing the box and wrapping it in ribbon.

“Then Victor is an idiot for approving the design in the first place, because that costume looks exactly like your design,” Phichit said.

“I think I’d quit,” Yuuri said. “I don’t think I could recover from that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw Phichit freeze, giving him a look of horror.

Yuuri laughed. “Don’t look at me like that—I’m kidding. I’m sure Victor will like it, and if he doesn’t… well, no refunds.”

“Don’t joke about quitting,” Phichit muttered, turning back to the computer.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said sincerely. “You know I could never do that to you.”

“You couldn’t?”

“Never.”

“Even if it meant choosing between me and Victor?”

Yuuri paused, and turned back to his partner. Phichit’s eyes were wide with worry.

“Sorry, I know that would never—”

“Yes,” Yuuri said. “I would choose you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Yuuri—it’s okay. I don’t need—”

“I’m not lying,” Yuuri said firmly. “Yes, I love Victor. I would be devastated if I lost him. But you… You were here first. Maybe things will shift in a few years, I don’t know, but right now—I would choose you over him. I don’t think I’ll ever be put into a position where I _have_ to, and I would obviously be biased against whoever forced me there, but all other things equal… It would be you. I can’t imagine a life without making costumes, and I can’t imagine making costumes without you.”

Phichit’s lip trembled. “Yuuri…” He got up and wrapped Yuuri in a fierce hug.

“Just please don’t make me think about losing Victor again,” Yuuri said helplessly, returning the embrace. “It’s bad enough I can’t see him, but to imagine that… I can’t...”

“I’m sorry,” Phichit said, pressing his face into Yuuri’s shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry. I would never, ever put you in that position. I was just… I didn’t believe you’d choose me over him…” He sniffed.

“I understand,” Yuuri said gently. “Let’s finish this. I need to eat something.”

“You haven’t eaten!?” Phichit cried, pulling away. “Yuuri!”

“I know, I know,” Yuuri said. “I was going to, but I was so close to finishing.”

“I’m going to make you a huge dinner tomorrow,” Phichit said decidedly, sitting back down in front of the computer.

“I—I don’t really need…”

Phichit grinned over at Yuuri. “I didn’t ask you. You don’t get a choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor apologies for the indulgences--I know most people don't care about the intricacies of crafting a rose brooch out of slippery, finnicky fabric, but I couldn't help myself. Please don't try to copy Yuuri, though--it's not worth it. There are far easier ways to make roses.


	21. Chapter 21

In previous years, Victor could count on his fingers the number of days he’d been running late for practice. Punctuality was something Yakov prized, and Victor was the only one of his skaters that could be relied upon to be on time consistently and without complaint.

This year, however, Victor was quickly running out of fingers, and summer hadn’t even ended yet.

It was as though, in anticipation for his retirement, his body had decided to give up on mornings. Getting out of bed was often a struggle, sleep always calling him back in increasingly tempting ways. It wasn’t even aches and pains that held him back—it simply felt like laziness.

Which was odd, because Victor was never lazy. He had been rightfully called many things over his career—flighty, reckless, insubordinate—but never lazy. Victor _worked_ to get to where he was, through injury and fatigue and even illness on occasion. If he had a goal, he never put it off, at least not out of _laziness._

But somehow, more often than not, all he wanted in the mornings was to stay in bed and do nothing. And that led to him being chronically late in recent days.

He was frantically scrambling out of his apartment on one such day, already approaching ten minutes late for practice before he’d even left, when someone downstairs bumped into him. Victor quickly apologized and tried to get past, but the woman was carrying a large box and blocked his path completely.

“Wait—you’re 319, aren’t you? Victor Nikiforov?”

“Yes,” Victor said impatiently. “If you could just leave it—”

“It needs to be signed for,” she said. “And looking at this customs form, it’s not something I’d advise leaving outside a doorstep.”

Victor squinted at the label, and immediately grabbed the pen to sign the woman’s device. “Yes, you’re right, thank you. Have a good day.” He snatched the box from her and rushed out to his car.

The whole way to the rink Victor couldn’t stop thinking about the contents of that box. He knew exactly what it was, and his breath accelerated just thinking about it. Since he was running so far behind, he couldn’t waste time looking at it just yet, but perhaps when he took a break for lunch…

“You’re late again,” Yuri spat at him as soon as he stepped onto the ice.

Victor ignored him, starting his warmup routine.

“What is up with you, lately? Are you sick?”

Victor didn’t have an answer, too busy trying to put himself in the mindset of training. He drifted away from Yuri, hoping that would deter him from trying to talk, but Yuri tried to follow him. Victor wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but Yuri swerved directly into Victor’s path and they collided with a heavy thud, Victor’s hip crashing into Yuri’s side. Yuri scrambled to keep his balance but failed spectacularly, and Victor’s reflexes kicked in to catch the younger skater around the middle before he hit the ice.

Yuri had clearly been braced for a fall, and blinked as he realized the ice wasn’t touching him. He turned bright red as he realized what happened, and scowled deeply at Victor.

Victor held steady until Yuri had his feet, then quickly skated away before the yelling could start. He knew Yuri never took well to embarrassment.

After that, though, Yuri kept mostly to himself.

“He’s only concerned for you,” Yakov grumbled from his chair at the sidelines, once Victor had returned there for a drink of water. “Be nice to him.”

“I am,” Victor said.

Yakov huffed. “I’m not about to get onto you for being late. I’m too tired for that. But unless you want your last season to be a series of disappointments, you need to work harder to get past whatever this is that’s throwing you off.”

“I’ll be fine,” Victor said, with far more confidence than he felt. “It’s early, still.”

“You’re also farther along with your programs than usually are at this point. It’s not time to panic, but it _is_ time to evaluate and fix what’s wrong.”

“I’m working on it,” Victor said weakly.

Victor managed to keep focused on training, right up until Yuri signaled he was stopping for lunch, which reminded Victor of what waited for him in his car. He quickly went out to retrieve the box before sitting down for lunch.

“What’s that?” Yuri asked.

Victor considered trying to keep it a secret, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. A part of him wanted to show it off, anyway. “A very special package that arrived this morning. I’ll open it after we eat.”

“Who would send you a package?” Yuri muttered.

“It’s obviously his costume,” Mila chimed in. “For your Free Skate. Right?”

“Oh,” Yuri said. “You never showed us the other one, did you? Even though you brought it back with you.”

“Wow, Victor with both his costumes already,” Mila said. “Is this a new record for us? I haven’t even thought about mine yet.”

“You’re lucky Primakov always makes room for us,” Victor said. “A lot of companies are booked months or years in advance. As for my other costume… I’ll bring it in sometime closer to competitions. It was only coincidence that I brought this one at all—but I couldn’t leave it until later. I had to see it.”

“Did he not send any pictures?” Mila asked.

“No. And I didn’t ask for them. After the work he did on the last one, I trusted him to make it well.”

Mila pointed her fork at him, a sly smile on her lips. “You must really like this guy, to trust him this much. I remember you getting mad at Primakov if there was even a stitch out of place.”

“I didn’t get _mad,”_ Victor corrected. “I simply I have high standards for my costumes. And Yuuri is very talented. I have no doubt everything is perfect.”

Yuri looked up from his meal, then scowled when he realized who Victor was referring to.

Mila blinked. “Huh?”

“His boyfriend’s name is Yuuri, too,” Yuri said. “Which is weird as hell.”

“Should we give you a nickname to make it easier?” Victor teased.

“Oh, oh, I want to play!” Mila cried gleefully. “I want to give Yura a nickname!”

“I already have one!” Yuri growled. “You just said it!”

“I’ll bet we could come up with something better,” Mila said. “How about—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you,” Yuri said darkly.

Victor waved his hand. “Calm down, Yura. Anyway, back to what we were talking about—Yuuri is very talented. I didn’t need even a single alteration on the first costume, so I’m positive this one will be just as good.”

“So eager to talk about your boyfriend,” Mila said, amused. “What else can you tell us, Victor? How old is he?”

“Twenty-five,” Victor said.

“Wait—he’s _younger?”_ Yuri asked. “Didn’t you say he ran the company? I was expecting an older guy.”

Victor twirled his fork, fighting a smile. “Like I said—talented.”

“Do you have a picture?” Mila asked.

“I have many pictures,” Victor said, pulling out his phone. “He sends me one every day. Most of them, though, you’re not allowed to see.”

Mila grinned. “Oh my.”

Yuri scowled. “Gross.”

“He rarely sends anything with actual nudity, but most of these are meant for my eyes only.” Victor found a picture that Phichit had sent him a few days ago of Yuuri examining one of his costumes, looking thoughtful. It made Victor smile, remembering his privileged days of watching Yuuri work. He turned it towards his rinkmates.

“Aw, he’s cute,” Mila said.

Yuri’s frown deepened. “Why does he… look familiar? Do I know him?”

Victor chuckled, and swiped through his pictures to find the right one. “Not personally, no. There’s no way you would have ever met. But this might explain it.” He turned his phone back towards them.

Mila’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “That was _him?_ No fucking way.”

“Why do _you_ know this picture, Yura?” Mila asked him.

“It was that—that catalog. Yakov got sent a costume catalog, I guess from these guys, and there was this picture on the cover… Not the one Victor just showed us, but a different one. With a cherry or something. That one I think was in the middle somewhere.”

Victor considered teasing him again about what he might’ve been doing with that catalog, but Yuri was already red in the cheeks, and he’d been nice enough lately that it quickly lost appeal. He swiped over a few photos and found the one Yuri described.

“Ye-yeah, that one,” Yuri said.

“Heh, no wonder Victor ran off to the States,” Mila said. “So this Yuuri… He models, _and_ creates costumes?”

“Modeling isn’t his trade,” Victor explained. “His best friend ropes him into it from time to time. It took me a while after I met him to realize that he was the same person as the model. I knew I recognized him, but I didn’t know from where.”

“Well, I can’t blame you there,” Mila said. “He looks completely different. He’s gorgeous.”

Victor felt himself flushing with pride. Why had he been so reluctant to share Yuuri with them? Why had he been afraid of what they might say? Yuri had a history of being brash, obviously, but he was rarely outright mean, and even then his words were always directed at Victor himself rather than anyone else.

When they finished lunch, Victor thoroughly washed his hands and face, and brought his box to the rinkside. He’d intended to hide away in the locker room, but both Mila and Yuri were curious, so Victor decided to make it a somewhat public unveiling, gathering the attention of Lilia and Yakov as well.

He set it on a table, and borrowed Yakov’s pocket knife to carefully open the outer box.

“So slow,” Yuri muttered.

“Shh, Yura,” Mila hissed. “He obviously doesn’t want to ruin anything.

The inner box was similar to the one that housed Victor’s other costume, though the ribbon was more artfully tied and sealed with a label. He sliced off the ribbon, and opened the lid to find a sea of tissue paper. He slowly parted it, revealing the shimmering black fabric underneath.

Mila gasped. “What is _that?_ ”

She was obviously referring to the collar, laid mostly flat and displaying an artfully arranged cascade of black feathers. Victor moved aside more tissue paper, including a thick wad of on the right side, and it was his turn to stifle a gasp.

Those silk roses weren’t in the original design, but they were _gorgeous,_ and he loved them immediately. The little chains dangling from the bottom were a nice detail, as well.

“Seriously, _what_ is this costume?” Yuri asked.

Victor’s eyes had gravitated towards the envelope nestled under the brooch, but it would have to wait a minute. He tucked it into his pocket and lifted up the jacket, the stones already blindingly sparkly in the light of the rink.

“Wow, it’s gorgeous,” Mila said with awe. “I want to steal it from you.”

“It _does_ look professional,” Lilia said, picking up one of the sleeves to examine. “You mentioned he made this on his own?”

“He has a partner,” Victor said. “But it was my understanding he did both of mine all on his own.”

“Impressive,” Lilia said.

Yakov’s face was unreadably disgruntled, and Yuri appeared to be struggling with what to say.

“What’s it… supposed to be?” Yuri asked hesitantly.

“Well, the outfit for my Short Program is supposed to be a White King, so this one—”

“A Black Queen,” Mila finished. “Yeah, I can definitely see it.”

Yuri made a face. “Queen? Really? With that song?”

Mila laughed. “What’s wrong, Yura? Too on the nose for you?”

“The design came before the song choice,” Victor admitted. “I was really struggling to find something I liked, but then it just… fit.” It helped that the song was fun to choreograph, too.

“Are you going to try it on?” Mila asked.

“Now? I mean…” Victor thought about it. He _did_ want to, but… “Should I?”

“Definitely,” Mila said.

“I’m curious, too,” Lilia said.

Yuri shrugged. “You have it here. Might as well.”

That was enough for Victor. He folded the jacket back up and picked up the whole thing. “I’ll be right back, then.”

In the locker room, Victor quickly shed his clothes, then carefully slid into the costume. The pants were perfect, as he expected, but the coat… The coat made him whimper with how good it felt on his body. He had to adjust the collar a bit to get it to lay right, but once it did, Victor could think of nothing more he wanted to do than to wear this costume out on the ice. A glance in the mirror told him it was just as dramatic as he’d hoped for. Some makeup and hair styling would complete the look, but as it was… Victor didn’t think Yuuri could have done a better job. The brooch was an especially nice addition, delicate and beautiful and just the right size to make a statement.

Roses.

Victor needed to tell Yuuri about the roses. He’d hesitated before, since it wasn’t a happy story, and there were maybe two other living people in the entire world who knew it. He also hadn’t wanted to discourage Yuuri from using them, because even though Victor loved them, the truth would probably change the way Yuuri saw them.

But there would be time for that, later.

Victor turned to leave the locker room, but out of the corner of his eye he saw something had fallen off the bench. The envelope. He’d completely forgotten about it while he changed, and it must have dislodged itself from his pants pocket.

Victor picked it up. It wasn’t sealed, the flap only tucked in, and Victor opened it to find a handwritten letter inside.

_To my dear Victor,_

_It’s almost sad to send this off to you, as I have spent so much time with it that it was beginning to feel like a constant part of my life. This is, without any doubt in my mind, my favorite costume I have ever worked on. Thank you again for giving me this opportunity to realize my dreams._

_I know the white roses weren’t a part of the original design we agreed upon, but I spent a long time staring at this costume and feeling as though something was missing. The brooch is removable, in case you don’t like it, but I hope you can at least appreciate the hours I put into making it. As Phichit pointed out to me more than once, I wouldn’t have gone to such lengths for anyone but you._

Victor stopped reading to finger the brooch on his chest. He’d thought Yuuri had bought it, or something, but knowing that he made it… Of _course_ he wasn’t going to remove it.

Victor blinked back sudden tears and made himself keep reading.

_I know that you know I miss you every day, but some feelings are so strong I can’t help but repeat them every chance I get. You left such an impression on me that I find myself thinking about you even more frequently than when I was your obsessed, teenaged fan, albeit in a different way. I’m counting down the days until I get to see you again, but November seems so far away right now, and I’m always wishing I could see you, just for a moment, just to remind myself what you feel like. But I know a moment would never be enough, and I fear that I would give up everything I had for just a few minutes more._

_Are you doing alright? I know we’ll probably speak again before you read this, and I’ll have my answer then, but it’s something I’m always wondering, anyway. And if you aren’t alright, I hope you’re doing everything you can to help yourself, including reaching out to people. I get the impression you don’t do that very often. I don’t, either, because I hate being a burden on others, but sometimes we need to seek help from the people who genuinely care about us. It’s egotistical to think we can deal with everything on our own all the time. At the very least, I’m always here to listen, but you should seek help from people around you, too, if you can._

_I hope the costume arrived in good condition, and that everything fits well. I selfishly hope, too, that it’s everything you had hoped for. I had been channeling all of my thoughts and feelings of you into my work on this costume, and now that I’m finished I’m afraid of what will happen to all that energy. I’ll probably have to watch your videos for a couple of hours every day to stay sane, if one can call that sane. Or you could call me every chance you get. That might help, too._

_I love you more than I can ever say with words, and I miss you harder than I’ve ever missed anything. Keep in touch, Victor, and take care of yourself._

_Yuuri Katsuki_

A large teardrop fell onto the paper, and Victor had to thrust his hand aside before more fell. And they _did_ fall. He leaned forward, watching with blurred vision as drop after drop slid from his face to splash onto the floor. He didn’t try to stop. He knew that he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there with a gripping pain in his chest, and let himself quietly cry away these overwhelming feelings.

He had no idea why Yuuri’s neatly handwritten letter pierced him so much more deeply than their phone calls. Perhaps he was simply overwhelmed. But he couldn’t think about it, couldn’t rationalize it in his head, when all he could feel was the intense pain of longing for something he loved but couldn’t have.

“Hey, the women are starting to get impatient, so I was sent to make sure—shit, what’s wrong?” Yuri rushed over, standing in front of him, and put his hands on Victor’s shoulders. “What is it? Does it not fit? Is it ripped?”

Victor helplessly shook his head, and tried to stop crying, but it was fruitless. He wiped away tears only to have them immediately replaced.

“…Did he hurt you?”

Victor didn’t trust his voice to speak, so he only shook his head again.

“You just… miss him, then?” Yuri asked gently. “Is that it?”

Victor nodded and gave an undignified sniff.

Yuri pulled Victor forward, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to kill someone.”

It felt wrong, to be comforted by Yuri. Victor rarely ever cried, and he almost _never_ cried in front of people, much less his younger rinkmate. But Yuuri had cracked him open so much that all his rules were being broken yet again, and he was completely powerless to stop it.

“He’s really messed you up, hasn’t he?” Yuri asked, giving Victor’s back long, soothing strokes. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor croaked out weakly against Yuri’s shirt.

“What for? Reminding us that you’re actually human?” Yuri laughed shortly. “Spare me. Just pull yourself together before you go back out there, or be ready for a million questions from Mila.”

It was strange, how warmly Yuri spoke. It wasn’t a tone he often used around Victor, though Victor reasoned he hadn’t given many opportunities for him to use it. He pressed his face against Yuri’s shirt, the hurt slowly draining out of him, and eventually he had the strength to stop crying and pull away.

“You okay, now?” Yuri asked, eyes concerned.

“More or less,” Victor said, wiping at his eyes. “Thank you. I didn’t—it just hit me all of a sudden.”

“Doesn’t seem all that sudden to me,” Yuri said, nodding towards the letter. “I’ll bet whatever he said was _supposed_ to get you all emotional. That’s usually how letters go, isn’t it?” He sat down beside Victor. “Is it… anything you need to talk about?” It was clearly taking a lot of effort on his part to offer, and Victor couldn’t help being a little grateful.

He considered for a moment, wondering if there _was_ something he needed to say, but his mind drew up blanks. “I don’t think so. I just… I miss him all the time, sometimes more than others. Right now is especially difficult, because I’m wearing the costume he made, reading the words he wrote by hand…”

“You… really love him, don’t you?”

Victor squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “So much.”

“I thought it was impossible, what happened,” Yuri said. “You left for America, and you came back an entirely different person. I thought, there was no way anyone could fall in love that quickly. You can hardly know a person after a couple of weeks. But that’s… that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it?”

“I saw him almost every day,” Victor said. “I watched him work. I learned everything I could about him. I fell in love with him a few days in, but everything after that just made me fall harder and harder.”

“And it all started because of that catalog photo?”

“Not really,” Victor said. “Well, I suppose it _started_ because of it, because I did go to America hoping to find the man in that photo. But he ignored my emails and slammed the door in my face before I even knew who he was. His partner had to inform me that I’d ruined his life, years ago, and that it would be fruitless to try and apologize. All I could do was go home.”

“So even though his partner said it wouldn’t work, you apologized anyway?”

“I had to, Yura,” Victor said. “I couldn’t live with that sort of guilt. I tried my best to find out what happened, why I didn’t know about it, but no one remembered anything.”

“What _exactly_ did you do, though?”

Victor looked down, his eyes fixating on the brooch on his chest. “For most of his life, all Yuuri wanted to do was to make me a costume. It was his dream. He went to college to learn how to do it, and eventually gathered the courage to send me a design and a heartfelt letter asking me to let him make it.”

“And you ignored him,” Yuri concluded.

Victor shook his head. “No. Worse than that. I never saw the letter, but the design somehow ended up with Primakov’s, and I used it that year. I never knew about Yuuri, never spoke to him, never thanked him or acknowledged him in any way.”

Yuri’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”

Victor grimaced. “I know. He was rightfully angry with me after that, but I had to try to apologize. I paid him for the costume, and went out on a limb to ask him to make _both_ my costumes for this year. I didn’t think he’d accept, but he did.”

“And what made you decide to go back to America?” Yuri asked. “Couldn’t you have done the whole thing by email?”

“I… wanted to prove to him that I was sorry, and I didn’t think I could do that long distance,” Victor admitted. “Keep in mind, at this point I still didn’t know he was the man in the photo—I didn’t even know what he looked like. I had no other intentions besides making amends.”

“And you fell in love anyway.”

“I fell in love anyway,” Victor confirmed.

“So is there just… no chance you’ll see him again, before Skate Canada?”

“It’s hard,” Victor said. “I could spend a bunch of money and visit him again, but it could only be for a few days at most.”

“Why? You were planning on staying there at least a month, weren’t you? Why not just finish out that visit like it never got interrupted?”

“Believe me, Yura, I considered it.” Victor sighed. “There are two major reasons why it’s a bad idea. One is that he’s busy. He’s talked to me about his schedule, and it’s more than a little insane for just the two of them. And it only gets worse, right up until the competitions start. Right now he’s catching up on what he put aside to work on _my_ costumes, since people usually schedule his work long in advance. He’s already prone to overworking, and I know I would only be a huge distraction for him.”

“That’s fair, I guess,” Yuri said. “What’s the other reason?”

“I can’t train away from home again,” Victor said, wrapping his arms around himself. “At least not without a coach or a familiar face. It’s too hard for me to focus.”

“Was it really that bad there?”

“I wouldn’t say it was ‘bad,’ exactly. But it was difficult to have so many strange eyes on me, watching every time I fell. It felt less like practice, and more like… performance. And I can only handle that pressure for so long.” Victor shook his head. “It’s just not a great fit for me. I can hold out until competitions start to see him again.”

“Can you?” Yuri asked. “Because it seems like it’s killing you.”

“I’m… alright.”

“I might not be an expert, but this—” he gestured broadly at Victor “—doesn’t look alright to me.”

“You just caught me at a vulnerable time,” Victor said, standing up and going to the mirror. For all his crying, his eyes hadn’t gotten all that red. “Don’t worry about me.”

Yuri frowned, staring at Victor through the reflection with a disbelieving look.

Victor sighed, and turned. “What?”

Yuri got to his feet, but didn’t come any closer. “You seriously think I buy any of that? You’re not doing well, Victor. Not only today—I’ve thought so ever since you came back. This Yuuri… changed you. And I’m not saying it’s all for the worse, because frankly you seem a lot more human now than you used to be, but it’s very clear to me, and everyone else, that you’re not doing well. Something is wrong, and if the only way you’ll feel better is going back to him… maybe it’s better if you just go.”

“I can’t, Yura,” Victor croaked out. “I told you.”

“Then find something else that works!” Yuri cried. “Because standing still isn’t helping you. And you can’t just fucking tell me not to worry like that’s going to do anything. I have eyes, Victor. You’re not getting better—you’re getting worse.”

Victor squeezed his eyes shut, the truth threatening to pierce him open again. It was taking all his strength just to hold himself together. “What do you expect from me?”

“I expect you to _do something._ I expect you to stop pretending like everything is okay all the goddamn time. If you’re sad, be _fucking sad._ Skate like you’re sad. Let the whole fucking world know you’re sad. You’re angry? _Act like it._ You’re in love? Tell every fucking person you know until they’re sick of it.” Yuri’s balled-up fists trembled at his side. “Show some real fucking emotion for once in your life, because even right now, even after you bawled your eyes out in front of me, you’re trying to pretend it didn’t happen, and it’s a _fucking_ _lie_.”

“I _can’t_ do that, Yura. I can’t just—act on my every emotional whim.”

“Why the fuck not? Who is seriously going to give a shit? Not a single person out there will care.”

“If word got out…”

“Seriously, _who fucking cares?_ Are you forgetting this is your last year? This should be the time that you give the least amount of shits about what the world thinks of you. You told Yakov that your theme this year was ‘The Real Victor Nikiforov,’ so where the fuck is he? ‘Cause all I see is the same fake-ass, pretending to be perfect, ‘I was born on this earth to skate and do nothing else’ robot Victor.” Yuri pinched his face shut, and turned away, waving his arm toward the exit. “Get the fuck out there and show everyone. They’re waiting for you.” He stomped out of the locker room, disappearing into the bathroom down the hall.

Victor stood there, stunned—not at the fact that Yuri was yelling, but that he’d spoken something that felt undeniably like the truth.

_Get the fuck out there and show everyone._

Victor drew himself up, took a deep breath, and did just that. He didn’t stand still and let himself be fawned-over—he put on his skates and got on the ice, keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him, but not caring in the slightest. He skated to an empty patch, and with a deep breath, began his Free Skate.

He didn’t need the music. The song was already engrained into his head, singing in his blood and thrumming through his limbs. People cleared out to give him space, and he took it without remorse, feeling, on some level, that he was owed this moment. He didn’t bother to hide anything, pouring everything he felt into his movements. He didn’t hold back on his jumps, either—he threw himself into them, uncaring whether or not he fell. And he did fall, more than once. His transitions were sloppy and his muscles weren’t ready.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment.

The program was long, but somehow over before he realized it. As he made his final pose, gasping for breath, everyone in the rink broke out into polite applause. He smiled a little, because it seemed the right thing to do, and got off the ice to let the others return to practice. His heart pounded and his muscles screamed, but he felt—better. Not perfect, but less tense. The crying had helped initially, but the skating had cleared away some of the suffocating fog, giving Victor the space to breathe.

Victor didn’t push his luck with more practice. Back in the locker room he removed his skates, then took off the beautiful costume and gingerly packed it back up in the box. He stared down at the brooch for a moment, admiring the work that must have gone into it to make it look so perfect, the roses so realistic they seemed as though they should have a scent.

“Do more of that,” Yuri said quietly, startling Victor. He didn’t even realize Yuri was there, hidden as he was by the door of his open locker. “It’ll never fix everything, but it’s a better look for you.”

Victor glanced at him. “What made you such an expert?”

“I’m not.” Yuri closed his locker, and turned to Victor with a hand on his hip. “But I’ve watched you a long time, even before we officially met. You were never who the world said you were, but you were never yourself, either. It pissed me off. You think the reason no one ever gets close to you is because of how good you are? You’re just too _intimidating_ and _famous_? No. People don’t get close to you because they don’t know what to make of you. They can _tell_ you’re fake. The only people who can claim to be close to you are those who’ve seen you at your worst, like Yakov, and even now you’re not talking to him.”

Victor frowned. “I don’t need to burden him with things he can’t help. His life is hard enough right now.”

“Yeah? You know he’s fucking worried about you, right? You keeping him in the dark about everything is just making it harder on him.”

“We don’t… have that sort of relationship, Yura.”

“Bullshit you don’t,” Yuri spat. “How the hell can you be so dense? You’ve known him for over _twenty years._ You owe him at least an explanation of what’s going on—from what he’s said to me, you haven’t told him hardly _any_ of your plans. You didn’t consult him on _anything_ after you told him you were retiring.”

Victor slid into his shoes. “I knew you were just acting as a go-between,” he muttered.

 “That’s not what this is!” Yuri yelled, pounding his fist against the locker door.

Victor glared at him “Isn’t it? Are you telling me he _didn’t_ put you up to this? That he didn’t suggest you start talking to me, so that he might learn what’s going on without having to ask me?”

Yuri’s eyes went wide. “No! That’s—that’s not…”

Victor sighed. “You know, it was easier to be honest with you when I thought you might’ve cared. I thought that maybe—but no.” He stood, and put the lid back on his costume box. “You gave good advice, I’ll give you that. But if you want me to ‘be myself’ around you, as you say, you might make sure you’re not pretending to be someone else, first.” He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, picked up his box, and turned to leave.

“Wait—Victor!” Yuri cried, and grabbed the hem of Victor’s shirt. “I’m not doing this because of Yakov. But he’s worried, too.”

“If he’s worried, he can ask me himself,” Victor said, wrenching free. “Even though I know he never will.”

“The fuck? Where is this coming from? What do you mean?”

But Victor was walking out, and didn’t stop.

In the safety and solitude of his car, Victor nearly broke down again, only just managing to force himself to breathe before it hit him. Where _was_ this coming from? Why was he suddenly such an emotional disaster? It wasn’t just missing Yuuri—he understood that well, now. Yuuri was a certain kind of hurt, a constant sort of ache, but this… this was deeper. Old. Buried beneath something Victor didn’t understand. It felt familiar and foreign all at once, and he had no idea of the cause.

The passenger side back door opened, startling Victor. Yuri plopped himself heavily into the seat, and firmly closed the door, his face sour.

“Get out,” Victor said.

“No. Not until you let me say what I need to say.”

Victor glared at him through the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to talk to you, Yura. Just leave me alone.”

“Fuck you, you get to hear it anyway.” He held Victor’s glare for a second, then turned to look out the window. “I’m not doing this because of Yakov.”

“Don’t lie to me, Yura—”

“He _told_ me to do it,” Yuri admitted. “And yeah, at first, I did it because of that. I didn’t really feel like I needed your advice on my programs, because I knew Yakov would have mostly the same answers, but I did it anyway. He thinks you should be my coach after you retire.”

Victor opened his mouth, but Yuri quickly talked over him.

“I don’t care how you feel about that right now; that’s not why I’m here. Everything I asked you about skating was because of Yakov, yeah. But everything else? No one put me up to that. You’re a mess, Victor. Yakov’s worried. Lilia and Mila are worried. _I’m_ fucking worried, and I spent the past three years of my life trying to convince myself I didn’t give a shit about you.” He kicked at the floorboard. “But no one knows how to talk to you, and I’m starting to think it’s because no one’s tried before.”

Victor swallowed a sudden lump. “What—makes you think that?”

“Today, Mila asked you teeny little questions about your personal life, and you almost couldn’t stop talking. I’d never seen you like that before. I wracked my brain, trying to remember the last time I—or anyone else, for that matter—tried to talk to you about something that wasn’t skating, and I just…couldn’t. That in itself was fucking sad, but then I found you crying alone in the locker room, and I wondered—just how much do we not see?”

Victor lowered his eyes, hands lightly resting on the steering wheel. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he couldn’t argue.

“I spent a long time hating you, thinking you were my competition,” Yuri went on quietly. “I thought your fake personality was just a way to look good for the press. But that’s not true, is it? It was more like—like a shield.”

“I didn’t mean to push people away,” Victor said, his voice weak. “I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

“I think we just suck as your teammates,” Yuri said. “And the way you made it sound, Yakov isn’t all that great about it, either. I thought you and he were close, but… You weren’t lying, were you, when you said you didn’t have a relationship like that?”

All Victor could do was shake his head.

“And that… Yeah. No wonder you miss your boyfriend so hard. I bet he’s the only one who’s talked to you like a fucking human being in forever.”

Victor grimaced. “I have fr—a friend, too.” He’d almost tried to say “friends,” but even now, he couldn’t lie like that.

“Yeah, I guess you see Giacometti every now and then,” Yuri allowed. “But really, Victor—your life fucking sucks. I didn’t realize it until today. Everything about you is starting to make sense, and I don’t know what to make of it. All I know is that I couldn’t let you drive off today thinking Yakov put me up to this, because he didn’t. This is all me, for what that’s worth—even if it might not be much.”

Victor smiled weakly. “Thank you, Yura.”

“I need to get back to practice before Yakov realizes I’m not in the bathroom,” he said, his ears red. “This isn’t over, though. Keep your head up. Call your boyfriend. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Yuri left, and miraculously, some of Victor’s loneliness went with him.

Victor knew that everything Yuri had said was true, but he’d never had it laid out in such simple terms like that before. He remembered fondly those nights with Yuuri and Phichit, being asked about his favorite things that had nothing to do with his skating. _They_ had wanted to know who he was, and even acknowledged that he was different than they’d assumed. He’d felt—seen. Recognized as a person, not just as a skater, and Victor couldn’t remember another time he’d felt like that until just now.

Yuri, of all people, figured it all out on his own. Victor shook his head in disbelief, unable to keep a smile from his face. That angry teenager was far more intuitive than Victor ever would have guessed, with a bigger heart than he had any right to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two chapters didn't advance the timeline much, so I apologize if the pacing suddenly seems slow. There are some problems that need addressing before the boys can see each other again, but I promise you it's coming. Things will progress a little faster as we approach the end, so I appreciate your patience with me. 
> 
> Thanks again to all readers, both old hats and newcomers. I deeply appreciate every single kudos and comment I receive. If you're interested in messaging me directly, or being friends, I'm currently active on twitter as @meijiatron. I'm a little (a lot) shy, but I love it when people engage with me about my work.


	22. Chapter 22

Phichit woke up warm, with a cool hand stroking his face.

“Hey,” Leo said softly. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Phichit stiffly moved into a sitting position, wincing as he put weight on his backside. “Are you cooking or buying?”

“Buying,” Leo said.

“Better get McDonalds, then,” Phichit said, looking over at Guang-Hong curled up next to him. “My usual. And for him—”

“Half the breakfast menu?”

Phichit smiled tiredly. “Mmhm. I’ll never know how you always manage to get up early after a night like that.”

“You know I’ve always been a morning person,” Leo said.

Phichit yawned. “Disgusting.”

Leo chuckled and gave Phichit a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back in twenty.”

“You don’t want me to clean up and go with you?” Phichit asked.

“Someone needs to stay here and make sure he gets up,” Leo said, with a nod to Guang-Hong. “I don’t envy you of that.”

“I think I’ll manage alright, with some clever thinking.”

Leo winked, and turned to leave. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“That’s impossible,” Phichit said after him.

Guang-Hong stirred, but Phichit knew better than to expect he was waking up fully. Not only had Guang-Hong downed three more drinks than Phichit the night before, he’d been put through a long session at the mercy of one of Leo’s sinister toys. It was his device of choice, a vibrating butt-plug with a small remote that controlled the intensity, often used when the three of them were together. Leo could only do so much on his own, after all, and never wanted either of them to feel left out.

It didn’t make for the most romantic or beautiful sex, Phichit would admit, but since it was often the result of their drunken fumbling, managing that much was a miracle in itself. They had some work to do in that department, but until recently, none of them had spoken much about it.

Their sex had always been that way. Something that happened in the moment, something that lived under the influence of alcohol or the natural high of parties. It was an extension of their friendship, but it was almost a secret with how little they acknowledged it. With just Leo, Phichit could at least pretend like the connection was deeper than an in-the-moment fever dream, but with the three of them together, Phichit could never shake the feeling that he was simply an object in Leo’s oft-filled fantasy.

That was, until two weeks ago.

Leo had long been the romantic in their group, but to Phichit those sentiments had always rung a little false, as his efforts usually seemed to be under the pretense of getting sex. He was no stranger to giving expensive gifts to the people he dated—Phichit had been the recipient of such gifts early in their friendship—but the expectations he had were borderline disgusting in their entitlement. Phichit had let Leo know early on how uncomfortable he was with the gifts, and their ‘dating’ had ended there. It was only their mutual friendship with Guang-Hong that made Phichit stay, and while he’d had his reservations at first, Phichit gradually came to accept that Leo wasn’t as bad as first impressions had led him to believe.

Leo was used to getting what he wanted. He was also used to throwing around his money to endear himself to people. But he was also kind, and surprisingly open to Phichit’s concerns when he’d later explained why things had gone so badly between them. Leo had promised from then on to never give Phichit expensive gifts outside of special occasions, and never with the expectation they’d have sex afterwards. Those rules had been broken a few times, but Phichit had waved them off without making a huge fuss, even though at times it made him want to scream. Money was always a sensitive subject between the two of them, but even with the constant daily reminders of Leo’s wealth, Phichit had been able to move past it and see Leo for the sweet, generous man he was.

And really, he was responsible for all of this. Without him, Phichit would have likely never gotten over his hangups with Yuuri, and they wouldn’t be even entertaining these changes now.

Guang-Hong stirred again, bringing Phichit’s attention back to his task. To wake such an angelic sleeping face seemed so wrong, but left unattended, Guang-Hong would sleep well into the afternoon.

“Maybe I can make this easier…” Phichit slid over between Guang-Hong’s legs, and lowered his head to his crotch. The younger man was only wearing one of Leo’s oversized T-shirts, not even lucid enough to put on his underwear after they’d finished the night before. Phichit lifted the hem, smiling at the half-erection he found there. He kissed it reverently before taking the whole thing in his mouth, humming as he felt it hit the back of his throat.

Guang-Hong groaned, his fingers clutching subconsciously at the sheets. “Phichit…”

Phichit lifted, grinning as he confirmed that Guang-Hong was still asleep. Blowjobs were the most common thing Phichit did for any of his friends, an act he usually enjoyed as much as they did. Morning blowjobs were his favorite, as his bedpartners usually appreciated the pleasant surprises once they were aware of them. Even if they turned him on, Phichit usually felt fulfilled enough afterwards without touching himself.

He slurped the head of Guang-Hong’s cock with enthusiasm, not trying in the slightest to be neat or quiet. It pulsed steadily as the length filled Phichit’s mouth, and he moaned into his work, sucking and bobbing his head with a steady rhythm he knew would get the job done quickly.

Of anyone Phichit had ever been with, Guang-Hong was usually the quietest about his pleasure, but without consciousness to hold him back, his escalating moans echoed off the walls of Leo’s absurdly large bedroom. Phichit knew his warnings, and braced himself for a flood, but in the end, there wasn’t much but a few tiny spurts and some loud cries. Considering last night’s activities, though, it wasn’t unexpected.

Guang-Hong panted as Phichit lifted up, his eyes just barely opening. “Phichit?”

“Morning,” Phichit said, wiping the saliva off his lips with the back of his hand. “Sleep well?”

Guang-Hong blinked slowly. “How much did I drink last night?”

“Just a little too much,” Phichit said. “You were enjoying yourself, though.”

Guang-Hong smiled tiredly. “I remember that much, at least. That, and the sounds you were making. You get so loud.”

Phichit felt his cheeks go hot. “Yeah, well, you know. You should have heard yourself just now, though.”

Guang-Hong flushed too as struggled into a sitting position, and yawned generously. “Where’s Leo? I don’t hear the shower.”

“He was up forever ago, like usual,” Phichit said. “He went off to get breakfast.” He noticed Guang-Hong rubbing his temples, and went over to the bathroom to fill a water cup for him.

“Thanks.” Guang-Hong accepted the cup, and sipped gratefully. “I really need to stop doing that.”

“When are you cutting yourself off?”

“It should have been last week,” Guang-Hong admitted. “But I got carried away. It always happens this way.”

“You should have told us.” Phichit sat down and scooched closer to Guang-Hong. “We would’ve stopped you.”

Guang-Hong grimaced. “That’s _exactly_ why I didn’t tell you.”

Phichit laughed and stroked his hair affectionately. “You need to take your career seriously, Jiji. You know we’re all cheering for you, but you have to put in the effort.”

Guang-Hong made a face at the nickname, like he always did. “I’m just—I don’t feel like I’m ever going to be the best. Sometimes it feels like a waste to try.”

“Hon, you took _gold_ at last year’s Grand Prix Final. That’s huge. Skaters go their whole careers without getting a title like that.”

“I know, but—” He paused thoughtfully. “You know how, if you put in the work for something, and it somehow pays off, but you don’t feel like you did everything you could to deserve it? That’s how that win feels now. Plisetsky was off his game for some reason, Seungil Lee was coming off of his injury, Victor _barely_ underrotated his quad lutz, Giacometti—”

“That’s the sport, Jiji,” Phichit said. “Any of those things could have just as easily been you, and they weren’t. You might’ve been lucky, but that luck would’ve been for nothing had you not put in the work to capitalize on it. You deserved to win, and you deserve to win again. So long as you stop drinking and put in the effort.”

Guang-Hong groaned. “But drinking with you guys is so much fun.”

“You know there are fun, sober things we can do, too,” Phichit said. “Just because Leo has a stocked bar doesn’t mean we have to use it.”

 “I know, but—ugh. I _know_. I have no self-control around you guys.” Guang-Hong drained his water.

“Well you know, we’re doing this thing now, where, like, we talk to each other, and stuff,” Phichit teased. “You should tell us you’re struggling. It’ll make it easier.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” Guang-Hong gave a hesitant smile. “It’s still… a little weird to me, I admit. This whole thing.”

“It’s not that different from what we used to have,” Phichit said.

“I know, and that’s part of what’s weird about it,” Guang-Hong said. “I’ve never like… been in a relationship with anyone before. Am I supposed to suddenly start acting differently around you guys? Or is it supposed to be largely the same? And if that’s the case, what’s changed? I’m just a little… confused, I guess, about what this all is.”

“You’re not the only one,” Phichit said, taking the empty glass from him. “It’s all new to me, too.”

Guang-Hong gave him a wide-eyed stare. “Does it scare you, too?”

“Absolutely.” He cupped Guang-Hong’s face with his free hand. “But what scared me more was the idea of losing you two because I was too stubborn to admit what I wanted. I was too busy with my own problems to see what was right in front of me—that you and Leo were just waiting to love me.”

Guang-Hong turned red, then suddenly let out a gasp and doubled over, clutching his middle.

“What’s wrong?” Phichit asked, alarmed. “Sick?”

“No, I just really need to pee,” Guang-Hong said, shoving Phichit aside so he could crawl off the bed and hobble over to the bathroom. “I’m sorry for ruining the moment!” he called through the crack in the door, groaning with relief.

Phichit stifled a laugh. “You’re the worst!”

“I know.” The toilet flushed and the sink ran for a moment. Guang-Hong came out with the towel still in his hands. “Sometimes I don’t know how you two came to be friends with a bumbling idiot like me.”

“Aw, you’re not so bad,” Phichit said, opening his arms invitingly.

Guang-Hong gravitated over to him, arms going around Phichit’s shoulders. “I don’t know how to be romantic. I don’t know how to do anything but skate.”

“But you do that _so_ well,” Phichit said into Guang-Hong’s shirt. He pulled away to look up at him. “You know we’re your biggest fans, right?”

“Pretty sure a couple of girls in my fanclub could give you a run for your money,” Guang-Hong said cheekily.

“I dunno… Did any of _them_ wake you up like I just did?”

“If they did, then I _really_ need to stop drinking,” Guang-Hong said with a laugh.

They cleaned up quickly in Leo’s huge shower, brushed their teeth, got dressed, and made it downstairs just in time for Leo to come in with several bags of breakfast.

Leo fluffed Guang-Hong’s damp hair. “You woke up. How’d you manage that?”

“Phichit gave me a blowjob!” Guang-Hong said excitedly.

Phichit coughed. “Okay, you do _not_ need to say it like that.”

Guang-Hong frowned. “Why not? It was nice!”

“I have no idea how you can be so cheerful with a hangover,” Phichit said in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t drink even half as much as you and I feel like I need some espresso.”

“You know where the machine is,” Leo said.

“ _You know where the machine is,_ ” Phichit parroted in a bumbling voice. “I _know._ I was just _saying._ ”

Leo put his big, warm hands on Phichit’s shoulders and gently steered him to the machine. “You. Coffee. Now.” He kissed the top of Phichit’s head. “You’re cranky.”

“I’m just hungry,” Phichit muttered, though he was secretly happy for the affection. He prepared lattes for himself and Leo, while Guang-Hong opted for more water, already digging through his bulging bag of fast food breakfast by the time Phichit brought their drinks to the kitchen table.

“So, what’s everyone up to today?” Phichit asked after they’d all started eating. He’d left his phone upstairs on purpose, but the silence was making him uneasy.

“Coach wants me to meet with him this afternoon to discuss travel plans and stuff,” Guang-Hong said.

“I have a gig at noon,” Leo said. “You working today, Phichit?”

“I guess so, since neither of you are going to be around,” Phichit said gloomily. “I was hoping to go shopping today.”

“You can’t get Yuuri to go with you?” Guang-Hong asked, barely stifling a laugh.

Phichit sighed, and bit into his McMuffin.

“I’m off tomorrow, if you want someone to go with you,” Leo offered.

“I can’t go with you—you always secretly buy the things I put back for being too expensive,” Phichit said. “No, I’ll just work today. I’ll keep Yuuri company, at least.”

“And how is your lovesick boss?” Guang-Hong asked.

It still irked Phichit that they called Yuuri his boss, but he didn’t feel like arguing. “Same as usual, I guess? You know it’s always hard to tell with him.”

“They still call each other, right?” Leo asked.

“All the time. At least once a day, if not twice… Never for very long, but it’s usually enough to turn Yuuri all sappy for about twenty minutes before he buries it all again and goes back to work.”

“I can’t imagine Yuuri as sappy,” Guang-Hong said through a full mouth. He swallowed after hardly chewing, making Phichit wince inwardly. “I just—can’t picture it in my head. It was weird enough seeing him at practice that one time, unable to take his eyes off of Victor, but sappy?” He shook his head. “No idea.”

Phichit looked down into his half-finished latte. Neither of his friends knew Yuuri like he did, and at times like this it was really apparent how wide the gap was between the Yuuri the world could see, and the Yuuri Phichit knew. It wasn’t his friends’ fault, and it wasn’t Yuuri’s fault—it was simply just the way things were. Yuuri didn’t share himself easily with others, and Leo and Guang-Hong didn’t make much of an effort to get to know him. But it was always a little disheartening when his friends simply didn’t understand.

Leo touched his arm. “Something wrong?”

Phichit shook his head. “No, just—thinking.”

“Think aloud, love,” Leo said gently. “We talked about this, remember?”

One of the things Phichit had promised on that fateful weekend getaway was to tell his friends when things were bothering him. It seemed simple enough at the time, but more than once Phichit caught himself holding back for the sake of keeping peace. It was so easy to do, such a habit for him, that he found it was often difficult to even find the words to articulate what bothered him. He simply wasn’t used to talking about his problems, always more comfortable putting on a smile and waving it away.

“I’m just... thinking about how little you two know about Yuuri,” Phichit admitted. “Not in a bad way, really… I just feel a little sad that you two don’t know him. I feel like your impressions of him are such a small sliver of who he actually is.”

“Does that upset you?” Leo asked. “Do you wish we knew him better?”

Phichit pressed his lips together, thinking before he spoke. “I don’t know. I mean—maybe. I think I’m just sad that none of you understand why I feel the way I do about him.”

“We know you care about him,” Guang-Hong said.

“But you don’t know _why,_ ” Phichit said.

“Because he’s a really nice person?” Guang-Hong tried. “Because he gave you a job and a place to live that didn’t make you feel like you were leeching off of your rich friend?”

“Guang-Hong!” Leo cried.

“What? It’s true!” He turned to Phichit. “Isn’t it?”

Phichit laughed helplessly. “You’re not wrong, but you’re not right, either. I’m grateful every day for the opportunity Yuuri gave me, but that’s not… really the whole reason why I care about him. It’s not even half, at this point. And I don’t know if I could ever explain exactly why when you don’t really know him. You two keep calling him my boss, when if you knew how we worked, you’d know how wrong that word feels to me. Yes, I know it’s his company and he pays me, but he’s _never_ treated me like his employee. Always his partner, from the very beginning.”

Leo squeezed Phichit’s arm. “I didn’t know it bothered you so much.”

Phichit shook his head. “It doesn’t.”

“It does,” Guang-Hong said, “or you would have been talking so much about it.”

“I—you two bullied me into talking about it!” Phichit accused. “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

“Calm down,” Leo soothed. “There’s no reason to get upset. What I gather from what you’re saying is that… He trusts you. A lot.”

“He does,” Phichit agreed.

“And he trusted you from the very start,” Guang-Hong added. “That’s why you care as much as you do.”

“That’s definitely part of it,” Phichit said, some of the tension in his chest easing.

“He also needs you,” Leo said. “You’ve made that pretty clear.”

“Oh, oh, and you said one time that he _really_ appreciates your cooking,” Guang-Hong said excitedly, as if this were a game. “I think that would add to it, too, right?”

“I’m sure Yuuri is appreciative of much more than Phichit’s cooking,” Leo said.

Phichit gave up, waving his hands in protest. “Okay, stop, stop. You’ve obviously been paying more attention than I give you credit for. Yes, all those things are why I care about Yuuri so much. He’s kind and sweet and trusts me and can’t live without me. He also lets me take pictures of him. But that’s… not all of it, either.”

Guang-Hong took another bite of his hash brown. “What else is there?”

Phichit smiled, grateful that his friends cared about this, even a little. “When I design something, he always does his best to bring it to life in a way that matches my vision. We _work_ together, and we’re constantly creating these beautiful things. Yes, it’s usually for money, but he allows me to get so lost in the work that I often forget about that part, and it’s hard to describe how rewarding that feels. He’s amazing at what he does, and I don’t know how to convey _just how good he is,_ at least, not without going into all the crazy technical things about our work. I think that, even if I were given the option of working for one of the bigger companies for possibly higher pay, I wouldn’t even consider it for a second. Yuuri gives me freedom in a way I never thought I’d find it.”

Guang-Hong grinned. “Man, seeing you talk about work like that is so different from two years ago. You were _so_ stressed about not being _good enough,_ and here you are with a job that makes you smile like that.”

“I’m glad he found you,” Leo said, smiling too. “I didn’t actually know you felt that way about your work. You usually make it sound like a drag.”

“Sometimes it is,” Phichit admitted. “I mean, it’s _work._ But sometimes, when I’m looking through our catalog of past costumes, I think something looks beautiful, and it hits me all of a sudden that _we made that. I_ made that with _Yuuri._ And it’s so crazy to me that my ideas aren’t just staying ideas in my sketchbook—they’re _actually_ getting made. People _pay money_ for my designs.”

“I’m still dumbfounded people give me money just to skate,” Guang-Hong said. “I mean—I know I’m better at it than most people, and it’s really hard work, but it’s just doing what I love doing, and people give me money to keep going.”

“I don’t know how I got work doing—”

Phichit reached over and put his hand over Leo’s mouth. “Don’t even talk, rich boy. We all know you got your start doing photography for your parents’ friends’ weddings.”

“He’s right, you know,” Guang-Hong said apologetically. “You do take good photos, though.”

“That you do,” Phichit said, removing his hand. “And I’m glad you chose to do that instead of whatever you were trying to do in university.”

“Thanks for the support, I guess,” Leo said gloomily.

“No one’s going to fault you for doing what you love,” Phichit said. “But I _am_ going to take issue if you try to compare yourself to me or Guang-Hong. We didn’t start from anywhere near the same place as you. I lived under the constant threat of having to go back home in shame, having to listen to my mother say to me ‘ _Why did you spend all that money? You could have learned to make clothes here for free!’_ And Guang-Hong… Well, you remember what happened.”

Guang-Hong’s expression fell, and Phichit gave him a smile in solidarity.

“You know I would have taken care of both of you, if it came down to it,” Leo said. “My father—”

“Has connections, knows the right people, could have taken care of it,” Guang-Hong chanted. “We know. But you also know that that would have crushed our souls, right?”

Phichit nodded. “I wouldn’t have been comfortable living here under those pretenses. I would be so stressed, waiting and wondering every day if I was going to be able to find work.”

“I really don’t see what the big deal is,” Leo said. “If I have the means, why can’t I use them? Why can’t I take care of you? And I have plenty of room here, it’s not like it would have been crowded.”

“You don’t see what the big deal is because you’ve always had this,” Phichit said. “No one ever threatened to take it away from you. For me, costumes are _all I have._ For Guang-Hong, skating is all he has. It’s our life. It’s our power. It’s what we have control over, and ownership of. Everything else is borrowed.”

“Even my skating feels borrowed,” Guang-Hong said. “If I get injured again…”

Leo turned thoughtful for a moment. “I guess I just don’t understand why it’s so awful to fall back on me, if you need it,” he said quietly. “Is my money so tainted that you don’t want to touch it?”

“I can’t speak for Guang-Hong, but growing up poor, I saw clearly what money could buy,” Phichit said. “Money bought _people._ Money was _power._ If you wanted anything, some money in the right place could get it for you, no matter what it was. I hated knowing that those who were more fortunate than me, those who were born into rich families, were just automatically worth more to the world than I was. I told myself I would never let money have that sort of influence over me. Of course I need it to live, and I expect to get compensated for my work, but I never want people to think they can buy me. And if I leeched off of you, you would own a part of me.”

Leo looked hurt. “I would never do that to you. If I offered to help, it would only be because I have the means, and I _want_ to.”

Phichit shook his head. “That wasn’t what your first impressions told me. I know _now_ that you’re a good person, and if I were in an emergency situation, I _would_ turn to you for help. But that doesn’t make me any more comfortable with gifts from you. I hate feeling like I owe a debt that can never be repaid.”

Leo folded his arms across his chest. “What about Yuuri, then?”

“What about him?” Guang-Hong asked, taking the words from Phichit’s mouth.

“Why do you accept things from him?” Leo asked. “Don’t you _owe_ him?”

Phichit narrowed his eyes. “I don’t owe him a _debt._ ”

Leo glared back. “And why not? Why is it different from him? You were _always_ going on about how generous he was to you, how _grateful_ you are to him. Why is it completely different for him?”

“Guys, guys…” Guang-Hong said helplessly.

Phichit took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to keep a rein on his emotions. “Because, Leo, he needs me to _work_ for him. Yes, he helped me out of a tight spot. Yes, he’s more generous than I probably deserve. But he’s always made me feel as though I earn what I get from him. Not only through my job, but through the emotional support I give him as his friend and roommate. He _needs_ me. He’s not a rich man throwing pennies to the helpless servant—he’s a person sharing his home, his business, his _life_ with someone, because he realized it’s a lot harder to do things on his own. He doesn’t have much to give, but he gives it to me because he needs me.”

“And so, because of the family I was born into, every gift I give is just automatically worthless to you?”

“That’s not—” Phichit let out a sigh of frustration. “That’s _not_ what I’m saying Leo. I know you’re a nice person, and I know your gifts aren’t loaded with expectations, at least not anymore. But those gifts—they don’t cost you much. They’re nice, but you can just—give them away without much thought. Whereas it makes me feel like I have to repay you somehow, when I don’t have the means to come even close.”

Leo let out a long breath, wiping his hand slowly down his face. “Do you both feel this way?”

Phichit took a sip of his latte as he glanced at Guang-Hong, who was more than a little bewildered to be asked.

“I’m not—I won’t pretend I feel the same,” Guang-Hong said hesitantly. “I don’t have nearly that much pride. I like to be spoiled.”

“Don’t act like this is new, Leo,” Phichit said. “I brought up the money thing a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were still so hung up on it,” Leo said. “So just—you’ve felt that way about _everything_ I’ve given you?”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Phichit said. “I love your gifts. I just hate it when you throw money around.”

Leo laughed helplessly. “What the hell am I supposed to use it on, then, if not the people I love? I didn’t _ask_ to be rich, but I don’t want to apologize for it, either. All I want is to do something I’m passionate about, and do what I can to make my friends happy.”

Guang-Hong smiled. “I think that pretty accurately sums up all three of us, when you put it like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Phichit said sincerely. “I’m just—I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Now, don’t start with that nonsense again,” Leo said. “We told you to say what was on your mind, and you did. Was there… anything in particular I’ve done lately that upset you?”

“No, no,” Phichit said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Really, it’s—just old shit. I don’t know why I feel so hung up on it now. Ignore me.”

“Phichit, no,” Guang-Hong said, reaching out to him. “We’re not going to ignore you.”

“You can’t keep acting as though your thoughts don’t matter to us,” Leo said. “If this is going to work between us, we need to know.”

Phichit shook his head, feeling suddenly overwhelmed as everything had caught up to him. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel the need to go on such a rant to Leo, who’d been nothing but kind and supportive? “I… shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t say things. I shouldn’t be here with you. You two deserve better.”

Guang-Hong squeezed his arm. “Phichit…”

Leo stood, and nudged the coffee cup out of Phichit’s hands. “You. Up. Now.” His voice was gentle, but his words were firm. Phichit’s body responded almost automatically, used to following Leo’s directions. Leo folded him into his arms, putting a big hand behind Phichit’s head and pressing him against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Phichit said weakly, voice muffled by Leo’s hoodie. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Leo soothed. “Shh. It’s okay. I wish I knew why you always think your feelings aren’t worth sharing.”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you, and I do anyway,” Phichit said, tears leaking out his eyes.

“I’m not all that hurt,” Leo said lightly. “But I wish there were something I could do to help you move past it, short of throwing myself into poverty.”

“I don’t want that,” Phichit said with a sniff. “I just need to get over myself.”

“No,” Leo said. “You don’t. I love you the way you are. I love your pride and stubbornness, even if it’s at my expense.”

“Me too,” Guang-Hong said, hugging Phichit from behind. “You keep us grounded. Don’t think even for a second we don’t want you around.”

“You guys…” Phichit’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

Leo squeezed him tighter, his strong arms always somehow siphoning away some of Phichit’s hurt. “Don’t be. We’re in this together, remember? All of us. You said you wanted us to be more honest and show more love, and here we are.”

Phichit felt like such a drama queen, his mood swinging from defensive to savage to grossly sobbing in the span of minutes. But surrounded by his friends, he could feel all the negative energy drain out of him. “I love you. Both of you.”

Those words that came so easily with Yuuri were always harder to say to his friends, Phichit realized. It wasn’t because he felt any less love toward Guang-Hong or Leo, but because it felt heavier of an admission. Phichit’s love for Yuuri was as obvious as sunshine on a cloudless day, but Phichit had his doubts that his friends knew just how deeply he loved _them_. It still felt new, despite how long they’d known each other, despite how much they’d been through together, and Phichit was still admitting to himself how much he needed them in his life.

By the time Leo had dropped him off at the workshop, Phichit felt emotionally exhausted, but grateful. He cringed to think of all the things he’d said to Leo, but he knew in his heart that they’d been part of his unpleasant truth, and he tried not to regret saying them. More than anything, Phichit was relieved that Leo’s apparently endless patience had kept Phichit from doing something really stupid, like breaking up with the two of them over some ugly feelings.

“I didn’t expect you back today,” Yuuri greeted, sounding happy to see him.

“I didn’t… ruin any plans, did I?” Phichit asked. He hadn’t considered Yuuri possibly having a Skype call today. “If so, I can pop back out. I wanted to go shopping, anyway.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Yuuri said. He was handsewing details onto a frilly skirt. “We… already called last night.”

The way Yuuri was blushing, Phichit knew they must have had sex. Yuuri never really spoke about it, and Phichit was afraid to ask for details, but he had a hunch that Yuuri was developing a taste for the long-distance webcam sex.

“How’s Victor, then?” Phichit asked neutrally, setting his bag down at his worktable and sitting down to work. Yuuri had returned the sketches he’d given him to look over, covered in his colorful little sticky notes.

“He’s good,” Yuuri said. “Doing… better, I think. It’s hard to tell, but he seems a little less… down? The way he spoke used to have a sort of lonely edge to it, if that makes sense… but now it seems almost completely gone. He mentioned talking to his rinkmates more, so I’m hoping he’s finally reaching out to them for friendship.”

“It still boggles my mind that someone as friendly as him essentially had no friends,” Phichit said. He smiled inwardly at the compliments and suggestions on the sketches—one was just a little pink sticky note with a smiley face on it, pointing to the waistline of a bodysuit Phichit had designed.

“Me too,” Yuuri said. “But I guess they just always treated him differently over there. I can kind of understand, since he’s more of a celebrity in Russia, but it’s sad that he never let himself get close to anyone.”

Phichit pulled over his pencils and turned the page of his work sketchbook, starting a redesign. “That makes me want to keep sending him texts.”

“You should. He likes them.” Phichit glanced up just in time to see Yuuri stretch, scrunching his face up in that cute way he did. Yuuri pushed up his glasses and went back to sewing. “How are your friends?”

“They’re fine.” Phichit hadn’t yet told Yuuri of their new developments, though if asked, he wasn’t sure he could articulate why. There was a fear there, but of what, Phichit wasn’t entirely certain. “They just had to work today.”

“Was there a party last night?”

“Sorta,” Phichit said. “At first Leo’s work friends were there, but Guang-Hong and I didn’t really do much with them. Once they left, it was just the three of us, and we spent a while drinking and talking before Guang-Hong drank too much and begged us to take him to bed.”

“He still a horny drunk?”

“Of course,” Phichit said.

Yuuri went quiet for a moment, but Phichit could sense there was a question coming, and braced himself for whatever it was.

“What do you three… do together?” Yuuri asked timidly. “Sorry if it’s too personal—you really don’t have to answer. I was always just a little curious how it all worked. You’ve said some vague things before, so I can piece together a little, based on that and what I know about you…”

Phichit bit his lip, wondering just how to respond. He could say nothing—that was obviously easiest, but he couldn’t deny that a part of him was eager to answer. Yuuri rarely expressed his curiosity outright, and Phichit felt the urge to seize on this rare opportunity, though he hesitated on just how much to say. He’d never spoken to anyone about this before.

“It’s… a little complicated,” Phichit admitted. “Leo is sort of in charge of the whole thing, and he takes turns with us. Guang-Hong gets really impatient, so he gets everything first, usually while I help out.”

“Help out?”

Phichit flushed. “You know with like, petting, or licking, or kissing. One or both of them, depending on the mood.”

“S-so does—does Guang-Hong just lay there while Leo works with you?”

“Guang-Hong doesn’t get finished first,” Phichit said. He glanced up, glad to see Yuuri was as red as he felt. “Here’s… where it gets a little weird. If you don’t want to know, that’s okay.”

“I want to know,” Yuuri said. “But if it’s too much to share, I understand.”

Phichit took a deep breath to steady himself. “Leo has this—this plug, that he puts inside Guang-Hong after he’s prepared. It vibrates at different intensities, and it’s controlled by this little remote.”

“Wow… That sounds—kind of amazing.”

Phichit laughed nervously. “When Leo brought it out the first time, Guang-Hong was so scared of that remote. Now it’s his favorite thing in the world. Leo controls it while he prepares me, then hands it over to me while we fuck. It took a while to get used to, but I’ve gotten pretty good at jamming that button when I’m about to cum.” He bit his lip, shrinking into his chair. “Sorry if that was too much.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Yuuri said. “That sounds like—like it works for you. So when you’re finished, then…?”

“Leo switches condoms and finishes off with Guang-Hong,” Phichit explained.

“He never finishes with you?”

“I won’t say ‘never,’ but… he never _intends_ to. Sometimes he gets too into it with me, but generally speaking, I always finish first.”

“He must have a lot of endurance.”

“Oh, definitely,” Phichit said. “When Leo and Guang-Hong are alone, they can go for _hours._ I’m not on their level, and I’m not entirely sure I want to be.”

“Wow,” Yuuri said, impressed. “And this doesn’t affect Guang-Hong’s training at all?”

“Not really,” Phichit said. “He’s either too used to skating through the pain, or he doesn’t feel it enough the next morning to make a difference. Now, for competitions he goes pretty much celibate, but I think that’s more superstition than anything physical.”

“I see.”

Phichit stared distantly at his sketchbook. “Was there… a reason behind your curiosity? Are you and Victor considering…?”

“A-ah, no, no! Nothing like that!” Yuuri said hastily. “I’ve been curious for a long time, even before Victor, but I was always afraid to ask. I don’t think Victor would be all that interested… and I’m not sure I could handle it. The things he asks me to do require a lot of focus, and having another person around might be too distracting. Although…”

Phichit looked up in interest. “Although?”

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so impossible if the other person knew how to work with Victor? I don’t know, it’s probably a crazy thought that would never happen, but I just remembered his friend Chris… He knows Victor really well, and would know what to do with him.”

“Wait—Chris? As in Christophe Giacometti?” Phichit whirled around in his chair and rolled across the floor to Yuuri. “Tell me more.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide, and he looked aside, ashamed. “I—I can’t. I probably shouldn’t. I guess I can say that Chris and Victor are close friends that used to have sex, sorta like you and me. Only Victor is more… specific, I guess? He _needed_ what he had with Chris, until he found me.”

Phichit put an elbow on Yuuri’s table, resting his chin in his palm. “You want to know something that I never mentioned to you?”

“What’s that?”

“Victor came to me, just after you started dating, _terrified_ that he wouldn’t be right for you. He thought you might’ve been a bottom.”

Yuuri blinked. “What? No way, he didn’t mention this at all.”

“He was probably embarrassed,” Phichit reasoned. “Granted—he wasn’t completely specific about what his needs were, and I probably don’t need to know them. But I put in a good word that you’d be accommodating, and I guess I wasn’t wrong.”

Yuuri laughed nervously. “Accommodating? That’s the word you used?”

Phichit shrugged. “I mean—you gave me what I wanted when I asked. I didn’t really know your preferences enough to say one way or another.”

Yuuri went thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose that’s true. Though I should say that I wasn’t just being accommodating—I really didn’t have a strong grasp of everything I liked, outside of some fantasies. I mean—I obviously didn’t have a lot of experience before you, though being with you helped me realize some things about myself.”

Phichit reached over and touched Yuuri’s arm. “I take it you two do pretty well at making each other happy?”

Yuuri flushed deeply. “It was a little terrifying how well we aligned. We didn’t have to make any compromises at all.”

Phichit smiled. “I’m happy for you.”

“Do… your friends make you happy?”

Phichit withdrew. “Leo is the best partner I’ve ever had. No offense to you, obviously, but he and I were compatible from the start. He used to sleep around a lot, so the variety of experiences really helped him hone down on what he liked, and—well, I apparently hit a lot of those buttons from the get go. Our dating didn’t work out at first, for reasons I’m sure I’ve mentioned a ton of times before, but the sex has always been good.”

“When—when did you decide to add Guang-Hong in?”

“Well…” Phichit rubbed his arm. “After we fucked up the dating, Leo and I weren’t exactly exclusive. I actually would have ditched him altogether, but Guang-Hong was our mutual friend, and he didn’t really know anyone else here, aside from his coach. I didn’t want to just abandon him, so I stuck it out with Leo to keep our friendship intact. He sort of just… took turns with us for a while, and neither of us really minded since we were all just friends. Then one day, on Leo’s birthday, Guang-Hong and I secretly agreed we were going to offer a threesome as part of our present. I thought Leo might die, he was so happy. He was apparently having something of a personal crisis trying to decide which of us to spend time with, and he still insists it was the best present he’d ever received.”

“That’s… surprisingly sweet,” Yuuri said with a shy smile.

“That’s a pretty succinct way to describe our relationship,” Phichit said, laughing a little. “On paper it kind of just seems like Leo is a total playboy and Guang-Hong and I are his little sluts, but really we’re just three horny dorks who like each other a lot. It’s way simpler than it has any right to be, except…” He hesitated just a moment before pushing through. “I guess things are a little different, now.” He met Yuuri’s eyes in a significant look.

Yuuri set aside his work and turned his full attention to Phichit, saying nothing, but making it clear he was listening closely.

Phichit sighed. “I know I’ve been cagey about the whole weekend thing, and I want you to know it’s not because of you. I think I’m just afraid to talk about it in general. I really, really want things to work out, but I’m afraid of jinxing it by putting too many of my hopes out there.”

Yuuri frowned. “What happened?”

“It was… a beautiful weekend. We ate amazing food, had long massages, facials, manicures, relaxed in a hot tub, and just… really spent time together. We talked _a lot_ , both with alcohol and without. I basically laid out the idea that I wished we could be together—actually _together—_ without all the weird hangups we had about being ‘just friends.’ Guang-Hong said he wished the same, though both of us were afraid we wouldn’t know what to do. Leo was a little more hesitant about it—keep in mind, he’s never been exclusive before, with anyone—but in the end he decided it was probably where we were headed, anyway.”

“Leo was never exclusive?” Yuuri asked. “Not even with the two of you?”

Phichit hugged himself. “We always lived under the assumption that Leo sleeps with whoever he wants when the opportunity arises, but he doesn’t talk about it with us. We know he’s careful—he gets tested monthly and uses condoms religiously—so we don’t ask questions, generally. I know he’s taken some of his models to bed before. But he agreed that, if we do this, he won’t sleep around anymore.”

“And I take it you guys trust him to keep that promise?”

“Absolutely,” Phichit said. “Leo’s not a bad guy—just horny. I suspect it’ll be an adjustment for him, but it’s not like he’ll be left wanting. I just… I don’t know.”

Yuuri reached out to him. “Don’t know what?”

“I’m not entirely sure if it was the right choice or not,” Phichit admitted. “I love them a ton and they’re some of my favorite people to spend time with, but this whole honesty thing is biting me hard. Just this morning I was going off on Leo for having money, for almost no reason other than that he was trying to compare his job situation to mine. Like, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s clearly something that still bothers you,” Yuuri said.

“Yeah, but—it’s not like I want him to _do_ anything about it. I was just ranting. I had a headache and I was cranky and I just—went off on him. I could tell it hurt him, and you know what he did about it?” Phichit shook his head, still in disbelief about it. “He fucking _listened_ to me. He was patient and he listened and he hugged me and said I was fine.”

Yuuri chuckled. “Sounds like a good partner.”

“I don’t deserve to be with them,” Phichit said miserably. “They’d be better off without me.”

“Now that doesn’t sound like you,” Yuuri said, squeezing Phichit’s arm. “You know they love you, and you deserve every ounce of that love. Everyone says things they regret sometimes. The important thing is that you listen to each other and work through your problems, rather than pretend they don’t exist.”

Phichit shook his head again. “I know that, but—”

“There’s no ‘but’ here. That’s all there is. And it sounds like you’re going to be fine. I’m no expert on relationships, but—you three have made it this far, despite your differences. Maybe even because of them. I think your friendship will be a really strong foundation for whatever your relationship turns into, whether you just remain close friends or whether you decide to make a family out of it someday.”

Phichit recoiled. “What—a _family?_ I have no idea how that would even work, and I guarantee you it’s the farthest thing from _everyone’s_ mind right now.”

Yuuri withdrew his hand, smiling sadly. “I’m not saying it’s going to happen—it was just an example. All I mean is that I think you guys will be alright, whatever you choose.”

Phichit gave him a half-smile. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I know you,” Yuuri said. “And I can easily see that you love them. Something you might not realize about yourself, Phichit, is that you’re really _good_ at loving people. Almost everything you do, the things you say, all the little smiles you give—there’s love in it. I’m sure your friends recognize it as much as I do. You spread your love around and do your best to make people happy when they need it the most, and that—I can’t see why anyone wouldn’t want to try their hardest to keep you around.”

Phichit tilted his head skeptically. “Are you talking about them, or yourself?”

“You caught me,” Yuuri said with a cheesy smile. His expression sobered. “But really... It’s the truth. You’re good at showing love to people. Not only to me—you show it to Victor, your friends, your family… It’s part of who you are. And I know that, whomever you choose to give that love to, they’ll return it in their own way. You three—your love will only get stronger over time. I feel it in my heart. And I want you to know I’m wishing you the absolute best, because you deserve nothing less.” 

Afraid of crying again, Phichit went over to Yuuri and pulled him into a fierce hug. “Yuuri, you’re too sweet!”

“You’re crushing my skull,” Yuuri mumbled against Phichit’s chest.

Phichit lightened his grip, but didn’t let go. “I’m just showing my love.”

Outwardly, Phichit laughed as Yuuri half-heartedly struggled to break free. But inside, deep in his heart, Phichit felt so grateful he thought he might burst with it. He never once doubted Yuuri was on his side, but hearing those words, having that affirmation that Yuuri was in his corner for all of this, made everything feel like it _would_ be okay. Like it was okay to hope.

And so, he hoped.


	23. Chapter 23

Yuri shivered against a sudden cold breeze, and pulled the hood of his jacket over his head to warm his ears. The chill of it was a little nostalgic, bringing with it feelings of family, of fireplaces and holidays, but it also reminded him that it was time to be serious, a time to throw away those dreams of free time and indulgences and really focus.

Summer was over. It was time to get to work.

Not that he _hadn’t_ been working until this point, because even in the off-season he never truly stopped, but now was the time that all those little indulgences had to end, and his focus needed to narrow to such a fine point that he couldn’t see anything but victory.

Yuri stopped walking, and looked up at the apartment building with his bottom lip between his teeth. He had no idea if this was the right step to help him achieve that goal, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He couldn’t talk to Yakov, or Lilia, or his grandpa—not about this. Mila would probably listen, but only after she teased him relentlessly about it. Yuri didn’t need that sort of humiliation when he already felt so desperately helpless.

Yuri took a deep breath to steel himself, and pushed the buzzer.

_“Who is it?”_

“Yuri.” He didn’t feel like giving any more information than that.

And, as it turned out, more was unnecessary. The door unlocked, and Yuri went inside, stomping his boots on the mat to be polite. He trudged up the stairs to the third floor, and gave two knocks on the door.

Victor greeted him with a smile. Not a grin, or a cheerful “hello!” or any comment about his arrival. Just a regular, polite smile. He opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Yuri could count on one hand the number of times he’d willingly visited Victor, but most of them had been in the past month. Sometimes they’d be talking in the locker room after practice, and Victor would invite him over for dinner so they could continue their conversation. Yuri always felt weird about it, but he’d never regretted it—Victor was a good cook, and though Yuri hated to admit it, his advice was often pretty solid.

Today, though, was the first day he’d come without an invitation. It was a rare day off, this close to the competitive season, but one Yakov insisted they take to ensure none of them pushed too hard. Yuri normally spent these days catching up on school work, but today, he simply couldn’t focus.

“Did you walk here?” Victor asked. “It’s getting cold out. Let me put you on some tea.”

“No tea,” Yuri said, then thought tea might be an appropriate drink for what he came here to do. “Wait, actually—”

“Yes tea? Give me a few minutes.” Victor gestured for him to sit on the couch while he went across the apartment to the kitchen.

Yuri sat, staring curiously at the stacks of books that almost entirely covered the coffee table. Mostly books in English, but there were plenty of titles in Russian, too, and some that must’ve been French. There didn’t seem to be any one unifying theme—Yuri spotted history books, biographies, novels both classic and contemporary, some that had covers that marked them undeniably as romance, and even a few informational books about dog ownership and poodles. Though he tried not to care too much, his eyes kept gravitating a particular book that featured two fit men on the cover, their expressions leaving nothing ambiguous as to what sort of scenes might be found within. Yuri pinched his eyes shut and forced himself to look away.

“Sorry it’s such a mess,” Victor said, moving a couple of the stacks to the floor. “You caught me in the middle of organizing.”

“There’s organization here?” Yuri said skeptically.

“Believe it or not,” Victor said with a little laugh. He carried over two mugs, setting one on the table in front of Yuri before sitting on the other end of the couch. “So, what brings you over today?”

Yuri didn’t speak right away, unsure how to approach the subject. To buy time he picked up his mug of tea, sipping on it once he was sure it wasn’t too hot. It tasted… different. Almost like—

“Did you put something in this?”

“Oh, did I give you mine? Oops.” Victor took a sip of the mug in his hand, clearly making no effort to swap.

Yuri sniffed his mug and took another drink, definitely tasting the alcohol this time. “Trying to get me drunk, Nikiforov?”

“If you get drunk off that tiny bit, you’re way more of a lightweight than I thought,” Victor said. “You looked tense, though. Thought it might help.”

“Thanks,” Yuri muttered, putting his mug down. He still wasn’t used to Victor being nice to him like this.

“If you don’t want to say it right away, I won’t force it out of you,” Victor said. “But if we’re not going to talk, I’m going to get back to sorting.”

“How exactly are you sorting? All the stacks are random.”

Victor put down his mug. “They’re not random, it’s just not obvious. Sometimes I pick more conventional ways of sorting them, but not this time.” He picked up a book from the stack closest to him, one about raising poodles, and smiled at it fondly. “This stack here has books from my teenage years. The two over here are books I first read in my early twenties. The ones nearer to you are all from the past five years or so.”

“So… why do you sort them this way?”

Victor shrugged. “I thought it might be fun to see what influenced me at various points in my life. I like to resort my books every few months or so, mostly to figure out what I can part with.”

Yuri leaned back more comfortably on the couch. “You know, until a month ago, I didn’t know you read all that much. Sometimes you would mention it in interviews, but I thought that was just a stock answer you gave.”

“Because no one actually followed up on that answer,” Victor said. “No one asked me what I liked to read, or why I read. It was a little frustrating, because I can only say so much about my skating over and over, but I could talk for hours about the books I like.”

Yuri smirked. “Maybe that’s why they never asked. They could sense your impending book vomit, so they quickly changed the subject.”

Victor huffed. “ _I_ think it’s interesting.”

“Does your boyfriend?” Yuri asked, before he could think better of it.

“He… does, in his way,” Victor said with a sad smile. “He doesn’t read much, but he’s happy to listen to me talk about them. I’ve even pressured him into reading one of my favorites.”

Yet another reminder of how badly Yuri and his rinkmates had failed Victor. Yuri could easily picture a younger Victor trying to gush about his favorite books, only to have Yakov incessantly yell at him to focus. It had happened to Yuri more than once, but the difference for Yuri was that he still happily talked about his interests with Mila, Otabek, and his grandpa. He didn’t have to hide himself for his career _all_ the time.

But, like everything else, the rules had been different for Victor. No wonder Yakov was afraid of Victor leaving him behind.

Yuri hesitated on the next question, but knew now was probably the only chance he’d get to ask. “Had you ever… fallen in love? Before him, I mean.”

“A handful of times,” Victor said, eyes lowered thoughtfully. “Not as fast or as hard, but I was still in love.”

“But… none of them lasted long, did they?” Yuri asked. “I feel like someone would have noticed.”

“I can’t say I’ve had the best luck with relationships, no,” Victor said carefully. “Why do you ask?”

Yuri picked up his mug again to take a drink, the alcohol warming his belly as much as the temperature. “Just—just curious,” he lied.

Victor clearly knew he was lying, but didn’t push him, hands busy resorting the stack of books in front of him. Yuri almost felt like he _needed_ a push, or he’d never say it.

After a long, silent moment, Victor started speaking again. “My relationships usually ended for a very specific reason, one I won’t go into, both for my privacy and for your peace of mind. In the simplest, vaguest terms, they ended because I needed them to be something they weren’t. And with Yuuri—he’s exactly what I need. So if you’re thinking that I’m in danger of having my heart broken for the same reasons, don’t. There’s a reason you and everyone else know about him, this time.”

Yuri _wasn’t_ thinking that, but he was secretly grateful for the reassurance, anyway. Victor didn’t need his heart broken. “I’m… glad that’s the case,” he managed to say.

Victor straightened, and gave him a look of concern. He reached over and lightly touched Yuri’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, Yura? I know you didn’t just come to hear me ramble about my relationship again.”

Yuri’s face went hot. “It’s—nothing, really.” He shook his head. “It’s just—I know I’m supposed to be focusing on my skating, since it’ll be November soon, but I’m having trouble focusing.”

“Really? Is there a reason? Something with school?”

Yuri frowned. “No, school is going fine, I guess. It’s—something else…” As if working of their own accord, his eyes gravitated back to that romance novel cover with the two men on the cover.

Victor followed his gaze, and picked up the book in question. “Something to do with this?”

Yuri swallowed. Why was this so difficult? “Not exactly. But—in that same vein, I guess.”

Victor flipped through the pages of the book, clearly not reading, but waiting. His moment of inattention gave Yuri a chance to breathe and think about what he wanted to say.

“My… friend,” Yuri said, but couldn’t think of the next words. _Good start, idiot._

Victor smiled in a friendly way, still not looking at Yuri. “Otabek, right?”

“Ye-yeah. He—said something to me the other day that I can’t get out of my head. And I _need_ to. I need to focus.”

“What did he say?”

Yuri took another drink, letting the warmth wash over him for a second. “He said, ‘I miss you. Next time we meet I have something important I want to say to you.’ He sent it in a text, and he hasn’t replied to anything I’ve sent since then.”

“Do you know what sort of thing he could have meant?” Victor asked neutrally.

“Not really… I mean, I have some ideas, but they’re all over the place. Sometimes I think, maybe he got a girlfriend or something. Other times I think maybe he wants to be _with me._ ” Yuri’s jaw snapped shut, mortified he’d actually said it out loud. He shook his head. “Probably not, though. I’m probably reading too much into it.”

“Is he usually so vague?”

Yuri kicked his leg up onto the table, sinking farther into the couch. “Not really. I mean—he doesn’t say much in general. He’s not much of a talker, which is why we got along so well. He listens to me bitch and hardly says a thing until I’m done. But when he does talk, it’s usually simple and straightforward, which is why this feels so weird. And he _always_ responds to my texts, usually instantly, sometimes after a few hours if he’s busy. He never makes me wait days.”

“What would you say is bothering you more?” Victor asked. “What he said, or the fact that he won’t respond to you?”

“They’re both driving me crazy,” Yuri said. “But I guess—the lack of response bothers me more. I miss talking to him. I might be able to focus if he’d just say _something,_ even if he doesn’t tell me what he meant by that last message.”

“Did you tell him that?” Victor asked.

“No,” Yuri admitted. “I demanded an explanation.”

“Maybe start by offering to talk normally, then,” Victor suggested. “If you think that would help you focus.”

“I don’t know,” Yuri said. “It _might_ help, but then my brain might just focus on the other thing. I wish I had—a hint, or something, just so I know it’s not bad.”

Victor put down his book and sipped his tea again. “What are you hoping it’s about?”

“Wh-what? I’m not hoping anything.”

“You must be, or at least hoping what it’s _not._ Would you be upset if he told you he got a—girlfriend?”

Yuri didn’t miss the peculiar way Victor said that word, as if he questioned its usage but was too polite to use a different one. “I dunno. It would be completely out of nowhere.”

“Then why did you say it could be that?”

“Because I…” Yuri sighed heavily. “Because I _would_ be upset if that’s what it was. I would _hate_ it. Not because I don’t want him to be happy, but because I feel like that’s the sort of thing he should talk to me about normally.”

“Tell me about the other end of it, then,” Victor said. “What if he said he wanted to be with you? Is that as farfetched as him telling you he has a girlfriend?”

Yuri suddenly wanted to bolt out the door, he was so embarrassed. But he’d committed to talking to Victor, so he might as well tell him all of it. “No. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“And why not?”

“Because I—because I think he likes me,” Yuri forced out. “Maybe. I don’t know. Mila seems to think so.”

“Forget what Mila thinks. Why do _you_ think that?”

“Because—I don’t know,” Yuri said, fumbling with the hem of his jacket. “We’ve always been close, but lately he’s been more—I dunno, affectionate? When we see each other, he likes to touch my hair, and he puts his arm behind my shoulders when we sit together. It’s a thousand tiny little things that I’ve dismissed on their own, but when I put them altogether, it seems... like he might… like me.”

Victor took another drink. “Is that something you want?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri said honestly. “I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

“Maybe now is the time you _should_ be thinking about it, Yura. At least so you can know what to say to him, if your assumptions turn out to be correct.”

“I _can’t_ , though. I need to focus on my skating.”

“No,” Victor said.

“No?”

Victor put down his mug and turned his body toward Yuri. “This problem won’t be solved by ignoring it.”

“But Yakov will—”

“Yakov’s job is to keep you focused on skating, so of course he’s going to say you need to ignore it, or ‘get past it,’ as he often puts it. But coming from someone who’s not your coach, Yura, you need to understand that you can’t neglect your heart. You’re not a machine. You used to criticize me for being a skating robot, well—that’s what happens to you when you devote yourself wholly to competition.”

“Worked out well enough for your career,” Yuri muttered.

“At what cost, though?” Victor said mildly. “I’m nearly thirty years old and can count the number of close friends I’ve had in my lifetime on one hand. I didn’t know how to express myself through anything but skating.”

“Yeah, but…” Yuri didn’t quite know how to put what he felt into words.

“I’m not going to try to tell you that Yakov’s approach is wrong,” Victor said. “Depending on what your goals are, his methods can be considered the best. He wants you to win, and he’ll push you to the edge of your limits to ensure you have the best chances. He’s good at his job. He’s produced some of the best skaters in the world, including the two men sitting on this couch. But speaking as one of those skaters—the price you pay isn’t always worth it.”

Yuri looked down at his hands. “What do you think I should do, then? Neglect my skating until I figure this out?”

“I think you can find a healthy balance somewhere,” Victor said. “But we don’t have as much control over our hearts as we like. If you manage to push this away now, it will only get more painful and confusing to deal with later.”

Yuri thought it over, chewing on Victor’s words for a moment. It _sounded_ good, but also somewhat dangerous. And what if he couldn’t figure it out? Would he be stuck in his own head, unable to make progress on anything?

“I’ll say this, also,” Victor went on, when it was clear Yuri had nothing to say just yet. “Nothing has a quick, easy answer, especially not when you’re young. You’ll spend the next ten years of your life figuring out who you are, maybe even longer. You’ll learn what you hate, what you love, and what you can’t live your life without. You’ll learn the things that make your blood hum, the things that give you passion—maybe you’ll even find the person you want to share your life with. It’s a long, difficult process that requires you to open your heart and actually listen to it, which may at times be detrimental to your career. It’ll be up to you to figure out if it’s worth it, but in my biased opinion, it almost always will be. You can’t skate with your whole self if you don’t know who you are.”

Yuri gaped at him. “Does it really take _ten years?_ ”

“More or less,” Victor said with amusement. “I’d even err on the ‘more’ side. Becoming an adult is one of the biggest scams we’re ever sold as children. It’s not about reaching milestones in age, education, or employment—it’s about learning how to live with ourselves in a way that won’t crush our souls. We shape our lives by finding out what’s most important to us, and honestly, we mostly do it by fucking up a lot.”

A laugh escaped Yuri before he could stifle it. Maybe the alcohol was stronger than he realized.

“It’s true,” Victor insisted, a grin on his face.

“No, it’s not that I don’t believe you,” Yuri said with a shake of his head. “I’m just amazed I’m hearing all this stuff from you. When I came over, I hoped you could tell me what you did earlier in your career to handle all this confusing emotional stuff, and instead you give me all this—this deep life advice.”

“Because it’s all related, Yura,” Victor said. His expression sobered. “But—if you only listen to one piece of advice from me today, let it be that you shouldn’t try to be who I was. You know what I turned into, and I don’t want that for you.”

“No offense, but I don’t want that for myself, either,” Yuri said. He pushed himself up until he was sitting upright again. “But I think everything else you said was good, too. I’ll try to get Otabek to talk to me again. And if he does end up wanting to be more than friends, then… I’ll probably let it happen, and figure it out as I go.” He’d decided it just then, but once he said the words aloud, it felt… right. Like he’d known the right answer all along. “I don’t think I’ll know how I feel about it until I have something to react to.”

“A good strategy if I’ve ever heard one,” Victor said, raising his mug in a toast. “And if you need more specific advice when the time comes, let me know. I can’t promise to be an expert on relationships, but I can help out with the mechanics of it, at least.”

Yuri had been taking a drink, and in an attempt to avoid spitting it out he inhaled some of it, drops of alcohol burning his windpipe and making his eyes water. He was coughing so much he couldn’t even express how gross Victor was being with more than a glare.

“I know you hate the idea,” Victor said, handing him a napkin. “But there’s only so much you can learn online. I’ve accidentally hurt myself, and my partner, thinking I knew how everything was supposed to work. I wish back then I had someone with more experience to answer my questions, so I’m offering you what I didn’t have. You don’t have to take it, obviously, but I just want you to know it’s an option. And I promise that if you come to me, it’ll just be between us, and I won’t ask any invasive personal questions. Understand?”

Yuri cleared his throat, finally able to breathe normally. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. It’s probably a long way off, if anything like that is going to happen.”

“My offer doesn’t expire,” Victor said.

“Even if you’re halfway across the world?” Yuri hadn’t meant to ask it so bluntly—or at all, really. He didn’t like the reminder that Victor was probably going to leave.

“Phones exist for a reason,” Victor said. His face took on that weird, happy-sad expression that he always got when he was thinking about his boyfriend.

“…So you’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” Yuri asked. “You’re going to retire, and leave.”

Victor was thoughtfully silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Would you care all that much if that’s what I planned?”

“I… don’t know,” Yuri admitted. “I mean, it seems like an obvious choice for you. It would be too much for you to ask him to move his business here, and it’s not like you have all that much tying you here.”

“That’s not what I asked, though,” Victor said.

“I’m… It doesn’t really matter how I feel about it,” Yuri muttered. “You won’t be happy if you stay here.”

“It matters.”

“It _really_ doesn’t,” Yuri insisted. “You expect me to go on and on about how I want you to stay in Russia and be my coach, because I think you’re probably the best person for the job and I would be sad to see you leave? Because I’m not going to. That’s too fucking selfish, even for me. You don’t need to stay here—not for me.” He stood and went to the bathroom, half because he needed to, and half because he wanted to drop this subject before he got too emotional about it. He felt stupid for even bringing it up, because he _knew_ Victor would talk about it like it was still a decision Yuri could influence. Yuri didn’t want him to go, that much was true, but he knew he didn’t stand a chance weighing himself against Victor’s love, and it would have been cruel to try. Yuri didn’t need to make this decision harder for Victor. He needed to bury the hope of Victor ever being his coach, and move on.

To ensure the subject got changed completely, Yuri came out of the bathroom with a question. “Do you think you could help me with my costume?”

“You haven’t finalized them yet?” Victor asked alarmed. “Even Primakov won’t take commissions this late.”

“I know,” Yuri said, rubbing his arm. “And my free skate costume is in the pipeline with them, but I really didn’t like any of the designs they sent for the other one.”

“If you think I can get you in with Yuuri, you’re mistaken,” Victor said sternly. “His schedule is full to the brim and he’s working long hours just to keep on top of it.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” Yuri said, affronted. “I was going to ask if… if I could use one of your old ones. You still keep them, don’t you?”

Victor’s face softened. “You want to use one of mine?”

“Preferably one that no one remembers,” Yuri muttered, uncomfortable at how touched Victor sounded.

“You underestimate my fans if you think any of them are forgotten,” Victor said, standing. “But I’ll let you look through them. Some of them you may have to have altered, and I think a couple needed some repairs…” He trailed off as he led Yuri into his bedroom and turned on the light.

It was… surprisingly normal. Clean and organized, but not _too_ neat as to feel uncomfortable. His bed was outfitted with a large quilted blanket that looked old and warm, and possibly handmade, like an heirloom. A handsome glass-doored shelf against the wall displayed knick-knacks, trophies, and what seemed to be all his medals. His nightstand had a couple of books on it, with a pair of glasses on top.

…Glasses? The hell? Since when did Victor wear glasses?

“Here they are,” Victor said before Yuri could ask. He hoisted a huge box out of his large closet, and set it on the bed.

“Is this… all of them?” The box was massive.

“Of course not,” Victor said. “But I figured anything from the past seven years or so might not fit you. My shoulders grew a bit larger than yours.” He opened the box, revealing carefully placed tissue paper between each flatly stacked costume. “I’ll let you look. They’re in order, but don’t worry about keeping them that way; I can put them back later. Let me know if you need any help.” He left Yuri alone in the room.

With such an overwhelming number of options, Yuri had to devise a plan, or he’d be there all afternoon. He pulled out each costume one by one, and if it wasn’t immediately rejected, he laid it out on the bed. The rejection pile grew pretty tall, as Victor had worn some wildly outlandish costumes that Yuri couldn’t even think of wearing himself, but even so, he ended up with about five solid choices and two maybes that he couldn’t bring himself to throw away just yet. There was nothing wrong with them, save for the fact that Yuri recognized them.

 Yuri hummed his song, trying to think which of the seven might match best. He could hear the flutes and the clarinets, the marching snares… It needed something light, maybe colorful. He put the black costume with the rejects.

His eyes lingered on a royal blue costume with gold trim. He held it up to himself in front of the floorlength mirror next to Victor’s closet, and found the coloring didn’t match at all. His pale hair clashed too heavily with the gold. The green and gold was a little better, but still didn’t look right, and Yuri hadn’t noticed the wide-open back until he’d held it up. Two more down.

Yuri moved the four remaining costumes in front of him, and determined he didn’t like the silver one with the feathers enough, narrowing it to three.

Throughout the whole process, Yuri had been oddly captivated by the sparkling, pale rose costume he recognized. The fabric was stretchy on top, with red sequins bursting out of the chest like a wound and crawling all over the arms, back, and legs. He’d wanted to reject it at first, because it was one of Victor’s more recognizable costumes, being one of the three he wore the year of his senior debut. But the more he stared at it, the more he liked it.

Yuri held it up to himself, and thought that, with his hair pulled back, it wouldn’t look too bad. He’d had louder costumes before. Since it was such a strong contender, he decided to try it on before he got his hopes too high. As he twisted around to pull up the zipper, Yuri thought for a moment that the costume was too loose. But once the zipper landed home, and he looked at himself in the mirror, he realized it wasn’t loose at all.

Somehow, it fit perfectly.

He fished a hair tie out of the pocket of his jeans, and raked his fingers through his hair to pull it back into a smooth ponytail. He stood back from the mirror to view the full effect.

Almost against his will, he smiled.

He had his phone in his hand before he realized it, taking pictures of himself in the mirror from different angles. After a handful, he swiped through them and chose one, and put it in a text to send to Otabek.

But as he looked at the last messages he’d sent, he remembered why he couldn’t. In hindsight he sounded so angry and demanding, and it was no wonder Otabek hadn’t bothered to respond to him. Yuri wouldn’t have wanted to respond, either.

“I’m so stupid,” Yuri muttered to himself. He was tired of this. He had to get past whatever this was, because he _needed_ his friend back. He’d been baring his soul to _Victor,_ of all people, when he should have been figuring this out with Otabek, and Otabek alone.

He decided to just ignore the problem in hopes that it could be dealt with later. He started typing to his best friend.

Yuri: _hey listen, ignore what i said  
_ Yuri: _take a look at this costume and tell me what you think_

He sent the picture, and tossed his phone back on the bed before he could waste energy hoping for a response. Steeling himself with a breath, Yuri opened the bedroom door, and caught Victor in the middle of putting his books back on the shelf. He stopped dead in his tracks, giving Yuri and open-mouthed stare.

“I don’t need your opinions,” Yuri said. “I just need to know if I can use it.”

Victor closed his mouth, clearly holding back some comment. “Sure thing. Have Lilia or Yakov look it over first, to make sure it doesn’t need any repairs.”

The thought crossed Yuri’s mind that Victor could volunteer to do that task himself right now, but he wasn’t offering for some reason. Was it because Yuri had said he didn’t need Victor’s opinions? He’d only said that to protect himself from potential gushing on Victor’s part. Yuri knew he looked good in the costume—he didn’t need to feel weird about Victor confirming it.

“Is that really the one you want, though?” Victor asked, returning to his task. “I was in a lot of photos wearing that one.”

“It’s the best one,” Yuri said simply, because it was the truth.

Victor reached up and put up his last book. “Well, I won’t argue with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I won’t argue with you,” Victor said. “You don’t need my opinions, you said, and you clearly like that one.” He went back to his coffee table to grab another stack of books.

“You don’t think it looks good,” Yuri concluded.

“I didn’t say that,” Victor said. “I think it looks perfectly fine on you.”

“’Perfectly fine’?”

“Yes,” Victor affirmed, but offered no further explanation.

Yuri grew frustrated. “Just—tell me what you think of it.”

“You don’t need my opinions,” Victor said again.

“No, but I—” Yuri nearly stopped himself, but decided it was best to plod through. “I want them. Just say it.”

Victor closed his eyes and sighed. He set down what was left of his stack and turned to Yuri. “I think it’s a good choice. The pale rose suits your coloring, and the red is properly dramatic without being too distracting. It fits well, and it’s clear you’re developing an eye for what looks good on you. If it were a costume belonging to anyone else, I wouldn’t have a negative word to say about it.”

Yuri folded his arms. “But?”

“ _But,_ ” Victor said, stepping towards Yuri, “it’s something that’s recognized as distinctly mine. People _know_ this costume, Yura. Yakov had me wear it for about a dozen photoshoots I had during my senior debut. People will know. People will talk.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want that for you,” Victor said. “I remember what it was like during your senior debut. People constantly searched for similarities between you and me, calling you my protégé, analyzing even your personality. But you did well to create an image for yourself that was entirely your own, and I fear this costume will reverse some of that work you’ve done.”

“So you don’t want me to be associated with you—is that it?”

“No,” Victor said steadily. “It’s not about what I want. You _specifically_ asked for a costume that was less recognizable, and you’ve chosen one that’s probably in the top three.”

“And if I decide I don’t care that people know it’s yours?”

Victor shrugged, and turned back to his work. “Then by all means. I won’t stop you.”

What the hell? Why was he being so obtuse? Yuri clenched his fists and stomped back into the bedroom, afraid of what he might say if he had to look at Victor anymore. He barely resisted the urge to slam the door, closing it just firmly enough to make his point. Yuri twisted around to pull down the zipper, and kicked the costume off his body like it was covered in ants. If Victor didn’t want him to have it—fine. Yuri didn’t need it.

Yuri pulled on his clothes again, slipped back into his shoes, pocketed his phone, and made his way out of the apartment.

“Wait, Yura—” Victor called after him. “You’re not taking it?”

“Just forget about it,” Yuri muttered. “I’ll think of something else.” He wrenched the door open and went as fast as he could without flat-out running down the stairs.

Victor caught up to him. “Wait, Yura, wait!”

Yuri wanted to keep going, but something in Victor’s voice made him stop. He didn’t turn, but he could hear Victor carefully descending the stairs, step by step.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, but at least let me drive you home,” Victor offered. “It’s cold, and it’s only going to get colder.”

“I’m fine,” Yuri said.

“Please,” Victor said, and Yuri finally understood what he was hearing. Victor’s words had a hint of desperation, a tone that Yuri found impossible to ignore. But why, all the sudden? It wasn’t that serious.

“Fine,” Yuri forced out, because he honestly didn’t want to walk in the cold. More importantly, though, he didn’t feel like he could leave Victor alone just yet.

Victor went up to grab his keys, and soon they were buckled into his car. Before Victor could start driving, though, Yuri put a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

Victor forced a smile. “Are you hungry? We could pick up some food on the way.”

“No, just—wait. Tell me why you don’t want me to wear your costume.”

Victor blinked. “I already said—”

“The _real_ reason, Victor,” Yuri demanded. “That answer was half-assed and you know it. If the only problem was that the costume is too connected to you, I’d wear it anyway. I’d deal with it. But when you give me that stupid half-answer while clearly holding back what you really think, I’m not going to wear it. It won’t feel right.”

Victor draped a hand over the steering wheel, looking down at his lap. Somehow, the dark lighting in his car made the fine lines on his face more prominent, and Yuri thought he’d never looked more tired. “You said you didn’t want my opinion.”

Yuri growled, giving the floorboard a kick in frustration. “Is it that hard to believe I changed my mind?!”

“Yes,” Victor breathed out. “I don’t get it. Sometimes you’re practically begging for my advice, and other times it’s like you wouldn’t listen to my words if I were the last person on earth. I want to be a good friend to you, but I’m far out of my element here, and I don’t know if what I’m saying is of any use to you at all. I have no reason to expect that anything I say will be followed or listened to, but I’d rather not go through the effort if you don’t genuinely want to hear it.”

Yuri took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m out of my element, too,” he admitted quietly. “I’m not used to talking about this kind of stuff. I said I didn’t want your opinion because I’d already made my decision, and I was convinced you were just going to agree with it. When I saw it was a little more complex than that, I _did_ want to know what you thought. But it’s not as serious as you’re making it. I just want to know why you really don’t want me to take it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to wear it,” Victor said. “It would actually fill me with immense pride if you did. But it’s… hard for me to look at it and not remember what it was like for me, back then. I was young and naïve—I thought that, as long as I poured myself into skating, everything else would be fine. I believed all the other pieces of my life would fall into place, and… well, I think we both know that it wasn’t as rosy as I’d hoped. I know you’re not me, but I’m terrified of you walking down the same path I did. That’s not a good reason to avoid the costume, obviously, but it’s simply how I feel about it.”

“You’re right,” Yuri said. “I’m not you. Unlike you, I have someone who walked the path ahead of me, and can warn me of the pitfalls.” He tried a smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace, and he gave up on it. “I’m trying to listen to you, but it’s… still difficult for me. Sometimes I still see you as untouchable, especially when you close yourself off. I’m also trying not to just use you as an advice machine whenever I get stuck, because you _do_ deserve to be treated like a human being, every now and then.”

Victor let out a slight laugh, which lightened the mood significantly.

The smile came a little more easily, this time. “I don’t think you’re as bad at this as you’re afraid of,” Yuri said. “I’m not going to follow every grain of advice you give me, because I do need to make my own decisions, but everything so far has been pretty sound, as far as I can tell. And if nothing else, talking to you helps me sort out what’s going on in my head.”

Victor stared distantly into the parking lot. “I hope that… you’ll be more comfortable doing so in the future.” He turned to Yuri, smiling a little. “I’d like to help you, where I can.”

“Noted,” Yuri said. “I’ll work on it.”

“Do you still want to leave?” Victor asked. “I was going to offer to share my dinner with you.”

“Depends on what you’re making.”

Victor winked. “Stroganoff.”

Yuri immediately unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car.

Sometime later, as he was sinking into the couch listening to the sound of Victor’s cooking, Yuri finally gathered the courage to check his phone. He held his breath as he typed in the passcode, not even letting himself look at the notifications first.

There was a bubble next to the message icon, and Yuri’s hand trembled as he opened it. Otabek had responded.

Otabek: _it looks good on you_  
Otabek: _it was victor’s though, wasn’t it?_  
Otabek: _also i’m sorry for upsetting you before  
_ Otabek: _you don’t need to worry so much about it_

Yuri closed his eyes and slowly released his breath, relief easing the tension in his body. He still wanted to get to the bottom of what Otabek meant before, but at least from here he could talk it out. A silent friend was like a brick wall, and there was nothing Yuri hated more than feeling stuck.

Yuri: _i’ll worry if i want to  
_ Yuri: _but i have a feeling i know what you’re going to say_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this update being a little slow. I wanted to give a little more to the Phichit and Yuri sides before going back hard on the Victuuri stuff--and trust me, it will come back hard in the next chapters. Ideally I'll be able to write them a little faster, but sometimes things happen, so we'll see. Thanks again to all my readers, both newcomers and those who have stuck with me from the beginning. I had ambitions of finishing this before the end of the year, but I may go over a little bit, since December is a busy time for me, and I have a decent chunk of story ground to cover still.
> 
> I'm sorry I haven't been responding to comments like usual, but I promise you I've read all of them and I deeply, immensely appreciate them. A sweet comment goes a long way in motivating me to write more, and I especially love when readers tell me what resonates with them. And if you can't/don't feel comfortable leaving a comment, don't worry--I still greatly appreciate you as a reader. I'm not someone who has grand ambitions on AO3, so as long as I know somehow that people enjoy my writing, I'll keep going as long as I can.


	24. Chapter 24

Yuuri’s eyelids felt heavier by the minute, and this time he couldn’t stifle the yawn that overcame him.

“That’s it, go to bed.”

“But I need to finish… I’m so close…” Yuuri pushed his needle into the fabric, sewing just one stich before another yawn took over.

“No,” Phichit said firmly, and got up from his chair. He carefully plucked the needle from Yuuri’s fingers, and pulled the garment from his lap. “Go to bed.”

“But this skirt—”

“I’ll finish it tomorrow. You need to sleep, Yuuri. Your flight’s in twelve hours.”

Yuuri sighed. He knew he wasn’t winning this argument, but he’d honestly wanted to finish this costume before he left, so he wouldn’t be leaving as much work for Phichit. “I can sleep on the plane.”

“It’s not that long a flight,” Phichit reminded him. “Go to bed. I promise I’ll be fine.”

“But there are three… and you have to do photos…” Yuuri yawned again.

“I’ll get Leo to help me with the photos.” Phichit hauled Yuuri out of his chair. Yuuri went reluctantly, his body more sluggish than he’d realized. “Honestly, you’d think you were leaving for a month and not four days.”

Yuuri reached for the laptop on his desk. “I just need to—”

“You _need_ to get your cute little butt upstairs. Go get ready for bed—I’ll finish up down here and join you in a few minutes.” He patted Yuuri’s lower back, urging him towards the apartment.

Yuuri finally gave up, and went.

As he brushed his teeth, it started to set in that, in less than a day, he’d be seeing Victor again. He’d been working so hard for the past month that he had hardly let himself think about it for more than a moment, but now that it was happening, he didn’t know how to react.

Of _course_ he was excited, but he was nervous, too. Despite their numerous phone calls, video calls, texts, and even occasional emails, Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder—what if the magic was gone? What if their love had just been a flash in the pan, and when they saw each other again it just wasn’t the same? Even if his heart knew it was unlikely, his brain kept asking, what if, what if, what if?

“What’s wrong, Yuuri?” Phichit asked as he snuggled into bed beside him. “You seem…” He frowned as if searching for the right word. “Sad?”

Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not. Just a little… worried.”

Phichit crowded in close, putting his hand on Yuuri’s side. “Listen, Yuuri—those doubts you’re having? They don’t mean anything. Victor’s going to be so happy to see you he won’t know what to do. You two are going to be absolutely inseparable when you see each other tomorrow, and all this junk you’re feeling now won’t even be on your mind. You won’t remember any of it.”

Yuuri slid closer, leaning into his friend. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” Phichit said gently, and slid his arm around Yuuri’s back to hold him. “Get some sleep.”

The next morning Yuuri packed his luggage in a daze, Phichit urging him through it with idle chatter about what Yuuri might wear which days, and insisting that he take Yuuri shopping for some “sexier underwear” when he got back. Yuuri still didn’t know what to think or how to feel, and he had an inkling he wouldn’t know until he saw Victor again with his own eyes. His body and mind were still in disbelief, and in the confusion he ended up feeling nothing.

Phichit drove him to the airport, and lingered with him until it was time for him to go through security.

“I know you’ll probably be distracted, but if you remember, shoot me a text when you get there,” Phichit said.

“I’ll try,” Yuuri said, grateful that Phichit knew not to hold him to it. Yuuri honestly doubted he’d be looking at his phone much, once he was in Victor’s presence.

Phichit gathered him into a fierce hug. “I love you, Yuuri. Be safe, and enjoy yourself. Try to get some good candid shots of Victor in his costumes, if you can.”

“I love you too,” Yuuri mumbled against Phichit’s shoulder. “And I’ll do my best. Don’t get too lonely without me.”

He’d meant it as a tongue-in-cheek remark, but Phichit pulled away with a stern look. “Don’t you dare follow Victor back to Russia. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t come back.”

“I’ll come back,” Yuuri promised.

After that brief emotional goodbye, Yuuri’s fog drifted back in as he waited in line for security. Eventually he worked his way through a lunch without tasting it, and before he knew it, he was dozing on his flight.

He tried to think about what it would be like to see Victor again, but again, his mind couldn’t imagine it. In the long months they’d been apart Yuuri had forgotten what Victor felt like, what he smelled like, what it was like just to be _near_ him. All the Skype calls in the world couldn’t replace the physical presence of Victor Nikiforov, and Yuuri became suddenly afraid that everything would hit him all at once, and he’d have an emotional breakdown the moment he saw his lover again.

Yuuri really wished he could find some sort of happy middle ground, rather than feeling nothing or feeling everything.

Victor had texted him earlier that day to let Yuuri know he was getting on his own flight, and that was the last he’d heard from him. They were supposed to arrive around the same time, and share a cab to the hotel, but Yuuri wished he could talk to him now, with hours still left. He wondered how Victor was feeling about the whole thing. Was he nervous, too? Or was he more confident than Yuuri was? Or perhaps his mind was entirely focused on his competition, and seeing Yuuri was just an afterthought.

Yuuri tried to sleep more, but now he couldn’t turn off his brain. His heart thudded intermittently with thoughts of seeing Victor, of hearing him, of being surrounded by him. Would they hug? Kiss? What if Victor didn’t want the public affection? What would happen when they got back to the hotel? What if Victor didn’t have much time for Yuuri, and they only got to see each other for a few waking minutes each day?

The what-ifs were making Yuuri sick to his stomach. He wished he’d asked more questions beforehand, but he’d been so consumed by work that he never thought to. When they spoke on the phone or through Skype, Yuuri’s attentions were always on how Victor was feeling, rather than his own vague fears about the future. Now his inattention to his anxiety was coming back to bite him, and there was no one he could talk to for a few hours still.

_You can do this, Katsuki,_ he thought firmly to himself. _There’s nothing wrong. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong._

He took measured breaths while whispering that chant in his mind, and focusing on that seemed to help a little. It didn’t ease his fears, but the “what-if” voice got quieter, until he could come up with more reasonable things that could happen. If Victor didn’t want the public affection, Yuuri would respect that. If Victor didn’t have much time for Yuuri, Yuuri would make the best of what time they _did_ have. It would all be fine, in the end. He trusted Victor.

Yuuri’s fears turned into excitement as the plane began its descent. Victor’s flight was set to land half an hour before Yuuri’s, and the idea that he could be waiting for Yuuri _right now_ made Yuuri severely impatient, his legs bobbing with nervous energy as he waited for the plane to empty ahead of him.

When he was finally free, rolling luggage in tow, he walked as fast as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. _Victor’s here, Victor’s here, Victor’s here,_ his inner voice chanted. _Where is he?_

Yuuri glanced at his phone, tapping it out of airplane mode. He was grateful he got service so far from home, but there were no messages. He considered sending one to Victor, but didn’t want to take any longer than necessary to get to baggage claim, and he wasn’t sure Victor had set up his phone yet.

Time felt like it was slowing down, each step taking an eternity despite Yuuri’s quick pace. He followed the signs at a near trot, each stride seeming like it was saying his name: _Vic-tor, Vic-tor, Vic-tor_. When he reached the expansive baggage claim area, he stood still for a moment, even as his body screamed to move.

There were so many people, but none of them were Victor.

Yuuri walked slowly, eyes ever-wandering as his mind dismissed people as _not-Victor_ with lightning precision. Too many people. Why couldn’t they stand still for just a moment?

The hairs raised on the back of his neck as he glanced around. Someone’s eyes were on him.

Yuuri turned, and his luggage handle fell to the ground with a loud, metallic crash. More eyes turned their attention towards him, but he paid them no mind. Every molecule in his body was laser-focused on the man staring at him, those perfect blue eyes the only ones that mattered.

Victor didn’t smile in greeting—his lips were parted just slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Yuuri closed the gap between them with long strides, until he was near enough to grasp Victor’s head between his hands and pull him down into a desperate, yearning kiss. Yuuri breathed him in, ignoring the couple of people who cheered at them, Victor’s arms wrapping around Yuuri in a vice. _I’m not letting you go,_ they said.

Yuuri pulled his head back a scant inch, his lips throbbing with that bruising kiss. His breath trembled, and he had to swallow back a sudden lump in his throat. “Victor.”

“Yuuri.” Victor’s voice was gentle, and he buried his nose against Yuuri’s neck. “I missed you.”

_Missed_ wasn’t the word Yuuri would use, but he wasn’t sure if there _was_ a word for all that he felt. “I love you.”

Victor pulled away just enough to look into Yuuri’s eyes, and he finally smiled. “I love you, too. Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

“Are you sure that’s not you?” Yuuri asked with a nervous laugh, and gave him another tight hug. He knew he was trembling—his whole body felt unstable, as though he would collapse into a puddle on the floor the moment Victor let go.

Victor’s arms seemed reluctant to do that, his hands roaming up and down Yuuri’s back in firm strokes that seemed less for Yuuri’s comfort and more for Victor’s.

“I need you,” he whispered, his breath hot against Yuuri’s ear. “Can we get away? Or do we need to wait for your luggage?”

Yuuri turned, and was relieved to see that some kind soul had picked up his fallen carry-on and rolled it closer to him. “This is all I have. Where are your things?”

“I sent them ahead with Yakov,” Victor said. “Let’s go, then. I have a cab waiting for me.”

Though his expression was calm, Victor walked with tense strides, keeping a possessive hand on Yuuri’s shoulder as they went outside. His words to the cab driver were polite but clipped, and he settled into the backseat with rapid, precise movements.

Yuuri had never seen him like this before.

The cab ride wasn’t long, but the intense silence made it feel like it. There were a million things Yuuri wanted to say, felt he _should_ say, but nothing made it out of his mouth. Victor’s eyes stared unceasingly at the window, though when Yuuri reached for his hand where it rested on the middle seat, Victor immediately twined their fingers together and gave Yuuri’s hand slow strokes with his thumb.

Hand-holding shouldn’t have been able to throw him so off balance, yet Yuuri felt a tingling heat from his ears down to his toes, all from the gentle, steady strokes of a thumb. _I’m here with you_ , they said, and even though Victor wouldn’t look at him, Yuuri felt as though all his attention was on him.

Victor only let go when they reached the hotel, and then found his way right back to Yuuri’s side once they were out of the car, dragging Yuuri’s luggage behind them. He kept his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder as they entered the lobby, and Victor stopped abruptly in front of someone Yuuri vaguely recognized.

An older man in a trench coat and felt hat sat on one of the cushy chairs, giving Victor a grim frown and Yuuri a hard, long look. Victor held out his hand expectantly, and with a sigh the man handed over a keycard that Victor immediately snatched up.

“Introductions later,” Victor said, and steered Yuuri to the elevators.

Yuuri suddenly felt as though he were no longer himself, merely an extension of the mysterious entity that was Victor Nikiforov. He drifted along at his side, vaguely wondering what would happen next, but mostly feeling as though he were right where he belonged. With Victor.

Victor seemed to know exactly where their room was, and the door hadn’t completely shut behind them before Yuuri was pushed up against a wall with Victor’s tongue hungrily probing into his throat.

Victor pulled away just as suddenly as he’d initiated the kiss, eyes closed, breath heavy against Yuuri’s cheek.

“God. You…” Victor’s face contorted into something that resembled pain. “I need you.”

Yuuri had barely opened his mouth to respond when Victor kissed him again, hand cradling the back of Yuuri’s head while he smashed their lips together with bruising force. It was painful, but Yuuri’s body echoed the desperation, fingers digging into Victor’s shoulders as if clinging to life itself. Victor moved his hands down to squeeze Yuuri’s ass, then slid even lower, and Yuuri suddenly found himself hoisted up, Victor grunting slightly at the effort.

He carried Yuuri to the bed and gently put him down on his back, then continued the onslaught of intense kissing, easing off on the lips to let his tongue do most of the work. Yuuri opened up to him, mouth widening, legs spreading of their own accord, hands roaming Victor’s back just to feel his solidity.

When Victor pulled away it was with deep gasps, as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time. His eyes darted across Yuuri’s body, never lingering anywhere for long.

“Why wouldn’t you look at me before?” Yuuri asked with a slow caress of Victor’s face. “In the car.”

Victor’s lips curled into a smile as he leaned into Yuuri’s touch. “How long can you stare at the sun before you’re forced to look away?”

Yuuri breathed out a quiet laugh of disbelief. “I’m the sun, to you?”

“The sun, the moon, the stars…” Victor lowered himself to nuzzle Yuuri’s neck. “Everything. I was afraid of what I’d do in that car if I looked at you too long.”

“If it’s anything like this, I suppose I’m grateful you held back.” Yuuri kicked off his shoes, letting them fall to the floor with unceremonious thuds. “Don’t hold back now. What do you need from me?”

Victor pushed up again, looking at Yuuri with an intense gaze. “You. Just—you. Be whatever you want to be. Insult me, praise me, touch me, deny me—I don’t mind, as long you’re here with me.”

Yuuri took just a moment to decide what he wanted. “Such pretty words,” he said in a low voice, a hint of mockery in his tone. He rubbed his thumb against Victor’s lips. “No more words until I’m finished. Understand?”

Victor swallowed, eyes a little wide with fear. But he nodded obediently.

“You can make sounds, though,” Yuuri had to clarify. “Make all the sounds you want. But no words.”

Victor nodded again, and something in his demeanor changed—something subtle, but Yuuri could sense it. Though he’d hardly moved at all, Victor had noticeably gone submissive, a distinct contrast from the wildfire he’d been when they came in the door.

Yuuri grabbed those invisible reins and nudged Victor aside, gently urging the larger man onto his back so Yuuri could climb atop him. Just moments ago Yuuri was sure he’d let Victor fuck him—sure he _wanted_ Victor to fuck him—but now, all Yuuri could think about was taking care of him. He didn’t want to insult Victor or bring him down—not this time—but he did want him to relax, and Victor never seemed more relaxed than when he was under Yuuri’s thumb.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

Victor did so without hesitation. Yuuri sat back on his heels, watching patiently as Victor slowly bared his beautiful chest, parting the shirt as if to present himself to Yuuri.

“You shaved,” Yuuri noticed, tracing his fingers along the bare skin of Victor’s chest. He didn’t normally have much hair, but now it was a smooth as if he’d never grown hair before. “Or… waxed, maybe? A ritual of yours?”

Victor merely blinked up at him.

Yuuri gave him a patronizing smile. “Nodding or shaking your head isn’t saying a word.”

Victor nodded the best he could, considering he was flat on his back.

“Are you like this… everywhere? Wait—don’t answer that. I’ll find out for myself.” Yuuri shifted, lowering his body and putting his head near Victor’s chest. “Eventually.” He nibbled lightly on a nipple, loving the way Victor gasped in response.

For a while Yuuri teased him silently, sucking, licking, and biting wherever he could, washing himself in those beautiful sounds emerging from Victor’s throat. He felt Victor’s rigid cock pulse intermittently against his stomach, and his own cock responded in kind, yearning to be touched. He hadn’t yet decided where to go from here, though. Did they need to fuck right now? Did Yuuri dare stop to dig through his luggage for the necessary items? Or would Victor be content just getting off?

Some of their conversations over the past few months had centered around what they wanted to do to each other when they met again. Some of them were wild fantasies meant only to intensify their phone sex, like Yuuri pounding Victor up against the window, or Victor offering a secret blowjob in the bathroom of the rink. But other suggestions were more grounded in reality, like Victor wishing for a rim job and Yuuri expressing his desire to have Victor fuck him slowly and tenderly for the first time. Yuuri understood that this was one of only a handful of opportunities they’d have for sex, so to simply make each other cum seemed like a waste.

But what would be best?

The back of Yuuri’s mind was still reeling from his rollercoaster ride of emotions, but now that his switch was flipped, as Victor had once put it, making Victor feel good was priority number one. Even his own pleasure was secondary, though no part of him was worried about being neglected.

Victor made a dissonant, strangled sound, and Yuuri looked up to see a desperate expression on his lover’s face.

Yuuri caressed his cheek. “Too much?” The way Victor leaned into his palm gave Yuuri a fresh surge of warmth, making him love this man more and more by the moment. Victor looked up at him with parted lips, jaw set and wanting. Yuuri heard the request loud and clear, and brought his lips to Victor’s in a tender kiss. Their slick tongues danced slowly at first, then escalated into something more feverish and urgent. Victor moaned into it, and Yuuri’s throat echoed back, the sounds making his blood hum and his body demand more.

When Yuuri pulled away to catch his breath, he stared into Victor’s eyes, admiring that color of blue that no photo could ever accurately capture. _I love you,_ they said. _I missed you,_ they said. _I want you. I need you. I can’t live without you._

Yuuri couldn’t resist one more brief kiss before he lifted up to start removing his clothes. Slowly, because Victor’s dark gaze told him to, that expression familiar from their Skype calls. His shirt popped over his head. His pants came unbuttoned, and he shimmied the waistband down to his thighs, as far as he could considering he was still kneeling over Victor’s legs. And then Yuuri stretched, arcing his back and lifting his arms over his head, and Victor let out a trembling breath, his eyes burning into Yuuri’s skin. Yuuri held back a smile as he teased a nipple with one hand, then the other he used to massage his aching bulge, feeling the small wet spot already forming on his underwear.

He really did love to put on a show. For Victor, at least.

A primal growl was the only warning Yuuri got before he was grasped by the middle and thrown onto his back. Victor freed Yuuri’s legs from the tangle of his pants, tore off his underwear, and hungrily devoured Yuuri’s cock like a starving dog. The pleasure was so sudden and intense Yuuri had to reel his mind back before he lost it entirely. He’d forgotten what it felt like to get a blowjob from Victor—all of the wet heat, the guttural sounds, the rapid way he moved his head that Yuuri had thought was only possible in porn—it was almost too much to experience all at once.

“I’m going to cum if you’re not careful,” Yuuri panted. Victor paused just a brief moment, Yuuri’s cock halfway down his throat, to give Yuuri an intense stare that dared him to tell him to stop.

Yuuri wouldn’t. He was a fool to think he was ever the one steering this ship, and he blissfully fell into the pleasure of Victor’s mouth. His fingers wove their way to Victor’s hair, tangling with the soft strands and tugging urgently as he approached orgasm. Victor only moaned into it. Yuuri’s body seized and his hips bucked as he shot down Victor’s throat, making sounds he hadn’t allowed himself to make in months. He released Victor’s hair, his arm falling limply to the side.

Victor looked up with a satisfied smile, a shiny dribble of cum dotting the corner of his mouth. Yuuri reached out and lazily wiped it with his thumb. Victor’s tongue darted out to lick it off, and he turned his head to push reverent kisses into Yuuri’s thigh. “You’re so amazing.”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Did you make me cum just so you could talk again?”

“I couldn’t hold back anymore,” Victor said. “There were too many things I wanted to say.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said earnestly. “I thought you would enjoy it.”

“I honestly did,” Victor said. “But seeing you perform for me that same way you did during our calls, I—snapped. All those times I wanted nothing more than to touch you, and couldn’t… I didn’t want to be reminded of that feeling.”

“You know I’m not complaining,” Yuuri said with a tired smile. “I only wanted to make you feel good.”

Victor ducked his head. “You shouldn’t worry about that. You have no idea how amazing it feels, just having you here with me.”

“I might have _some_ idea,” Yuuri said, and pushed Victor’s hair out of his face. “What do you want from me?”

Victor leaned into Yuuri’s touch, not saying anything. Yuuri could tell he wanted something, but was holding back.

“Tell me, Victor,” Yuuri said firmly.

“I don’t want to do this if you’re exhausted,” Victor said. “I want you to enjoy yourself, and not do something merely because I want it.”

Yuuri saw where this was headed, his legs spreading open almost of their own accord. “I think you underestimate my stamina.”

Victor bared his teeth in a wolfish grin, and gave Yuuri’s thigh a grazing bite.

Yuuri shuddered. “But go easy on me, alright? This is still technically my first time.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Victor assured him. “Though I’ll have to ask for your patience, as well. It’s been a long time for me.”

“You really preferred getting fucked, then?”

“I preferred it with Chris,” Victor clarified, and got up. He shrugged off his shirt, and began to unbutton his pants. “With you, though… I’m greedy. I want everything.” He tugged them off his long legs, leaving just his thin, high cut black underwear to poorly conceal his thick erection. He threw himself back onto the bed, surrounding Yuuri. “I want to be inside you, around you, touching you, tasting you…” He gave a long lick to Yuuri’s face. “I want to forget who I am and be a part of you.” He pressed his nose to Yuuri’s neck and took a deep breath, letting it out slow and hot. “I missed you. I love you more now than I did then, and I need you more now, too. Everything inside me has been screaming for you, and now that you’re here, I almost can’t control myself. I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you, right now, and I’m—terrified. I didn’t know I was capable of feeling this strongly about anything.” A strangled noise escaped his throat, and he buried his head in the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Shh, Victor,” Yuuri soothed, a hand going to Victor’s soft hair. “It’s okay. Relax.” Yuuri’s own heart was pounding with the deep emotions Victor’s words elicited, and he was sure he’d never felt so intensely towards a person before, either. But while it was true Yuuri felt much the same, expressing it might have only amplified Victor’s overwhelming emotions, when right now he needed something calm and steady. “Do you have lube and condoms?”

Victor lifted his head. “In my luggage.”

“Go get them.”

It wasn’t a request. Victor obediently got up and looked around, checking the closet, the wardrobe, and the bathroom. “My luggage isn’t here,” he concluded in a desperate voice. “Yakov must still have it.”

“Open mine, then,” Yuuri said. “In the back section, behind the divider.”

Victor pulled out the box and bottle, and lifted an eyebrow at Yuuri. “A box of twenty?”

“I had to buy a new box,” Yuuri explained, trying to keep the embarrassment from his voice. “I didn’t want to come unprepared. Consider it an investment for our future encounters, since I doubt we’ll use them all this trip.”

“An investment…” Victor smiled strangely at the box, and put the supplies off to the side before climbing back on top of Yuuri. “Do you think about our future?”

“Vaguely,” Yuuri admitted. “I try not to think too hard about things I can’t control, lest I get anxious. The only thing I know about my future is that I want you to be a part of it.”

“Would it terrify you to know that I have no idea what I’m doing after I retire?” Victor asked. “I feel like I can’t think about it. Not yet.”

“It doesn’t terrify me,” Yuuri said, running his fingertips along Victor’s sides. “I trust you. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”

Victor gave a weak smile. “Even if I decide to be your housecat?”

“Even then,” Yuuri said with a laugh. “Though if we’re comparing you to animals, you’re more like a dog. You’re warm, friendly, loyal…”

Victor’s smile fell, and for a moment Yuuri thought he might’ve taken it too far. But Victor leaned forward and gave Yuuri’s face a long, wet lick, and stuck his cold nose into Yuuri’s hair, sniffing audibly.

Yuuri fell into giggles, letting Victor sniff, lick, and nuzzle him all around his head. “Okay, stop stop,” Yuuri said when he couldn’t take it anymore. “Down boy.”

Victor sat back on his haunches, a satisfied grin on his face.

Yuuri took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m not going to fault you for taking your time to decide,” he said. “This is a huge change in your life. I can only hope that you’ll find time to be with me.”

Victor leaned forward, and brought their hands to his lips. “That’s the only thing I’m certain about. As soon as I’m finished with this season, I’m going to be with you.”

Yuuri pulled him down for a long kiss, putting all his love and affection into it, his hands roaming unceasingly along Victor’s back. He let out a sigh when they parted, feeling more at ease than he’d felt in months. “I look forward to it. But I can’t think about the future when everything I want is right in front of me.”

They kissed for a long time, Victor’s hand eventually moving lower to probe around Yuuri’s hole. With the help of the lube he worked Yuuri open slowly, their passion subdued but steady.

“For the record,” Victor said, when they’d deemed Yuuri ready for more, “I don’t wax below the waist.” He tugged his underwear down his hips, revealing his shining, eager cock below a neat bed of silvery hair. He winked. “But I did trim up for the occasion.” He got up to remove his underwear completely, and reached for a condom.

When Victor finally entered Yuuri, it was an experience unlike anything Yuuri had felt before. It was uncomfortable at first, but it being Victor, it didn’t take Yuuri long to relax into it, leaning heavily on their mutual trust. Yuuri gave up on any sort of control and let himself exist entirely on feelings—the strong hands that held his hips, the hot breath on his shoulder, the fire that bloomed wherever their bodies met. He felt himself slip away, until he was no longer Yuuri—he was a part of Victor, and Victor was a part of him.  

Victor wasn’t suave or graceful, composed or precise—he moved with uncertainty, but with a primal need driving him forward, his thrusts at times gentle and slow, other times strong and rapid. Victor made sounds Yuuri had never heard before from anyone, sounds that seemed to only exist in this deeply private moment between them. His fingers dug into Yuuri with a pain that seemed to resonate with that deep pleasure, and Yuuri cried out in ecstasy.

“Need… I need…” Yuuri babbled.

“What do you need?” Victor whispered, nibbling on Yuuri’s ear.

“More… deeper… a-ah… more…”

Victor pushed Yuuri’s thighs wider, and drove into him with a force that made Yuuri see stars. His voice cried out of its own accord, and he lost awareness for some unknowable amount of time. Was it an orgasm? It was unlike anything he’d felt before. When he opened his eyes again, a drop of sweat from Victor’s forehead splashed onto his chest, and Victor’s face was contorted in pleasure, his mouth wide in a silent cry. He sobbed, and collapsed against Yuuri with heavy pants.

Yuuri’s fingers wove into Victor’s hair, and he kissed his lover’s shiny forehead with deep affection.

“You’re so… so beautiful…” Victor murmured against Yuuri’s shoulder. “How…?”

Yuuri laughed warmly.

Victor lazily nibbled on Yuuri’s skin. “You’re the most beautiful man in the world.”

“Ever since I first saw you, I’ve thought the same of you,” Yuuri said.

Victor looked up, eyes bright with tears.

“Wh-what?” Yuuri asked, bewildered. “Is that so unexpected?”

Victor sniffed. “No, I’m just—grateful. I feel so lucky to have you.”

“I feel the same way,” Yuuri said with a soft caress of his lover’s face. “Should we get cleaned up?”

“Are you even able to move?” Victor asked with a laugh. He carefully pulled out and rolled over to Yuuri’s side. “I’m not even sure I can, after all that. Let’s rest a while. Not too long, though—there’s someone I want you to meet later. I already promised we’d join him for drinks.”

“Who?”

“My oldest friend.”

* * *

 

Yuuri was happy for the shower after over an hour of dozing with Victor in his arms, gratefully washing off the plane and sweat and sex. They opted not to shower together this time, after their disastrous last attempt at Victor’s temporary apartment, and a part of Yuuri was secretly glad for it. He was able to sink into his routine and let his mind wander, and take a step back to realize how amazing he felt to be near Victor again.

When lovers were parted for any length of time, they always spoke of a piece missing. Yuuri knew the feeling in concept, and had certainly felt less than whole after Victor left, but he didn’t understand just how deeply that emptiness went until he saw Victor and held his body, listened to his voice, and spoke to him in person. When they were together back in Detroit, he thought he’d be content with just phone calls, and maybe a video call when they were really desperate. Nothing could have prepared Yuuri for the longing he’d feel once Victor was gone, and nothing could have prepared him for the relief of being back together with him.

Victor had showered first and gone to get his luggage, but he was there changing when Yuuri got out of the bathroom.

“Chris is waiting for us, whenever we’re ready,” Victor said, standing in front of the mirrored closet doors.

Such a normal, grounded thing to say. Meanwhile Yuuri still felt like he was floating. “Alright. I won’t take long.”

Victor smiled at his reflection, humming some unfamiliar tune as he plucked at his hair. Seeing him in such a good mood made Yuuri feel even lighter, until he was sure he’d bump his head on the ceiling if he tilted his head up just a little.

Yuuri had no idea how he got dressed, fixed his hair, or put on cologne. He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he felt not entirely there, not entirely himself, until Victor put an arm around him in the elevator, and paraded him out to the hotel bar. There were plenty of people, but it wasn’t crowded, with ample options for seating. Victor chose a table near the bar, and pulled out his phone.

“I thought you said he was waiting for us,” Yuuri said.

“He was waiting for my text,” Victor explained. “He said he didn’t want to sit down here alone.”

“Didn’t you say he had a partner? His choreographer?”

“Not here. Apparently sick with a cold.” Victor rubbed his chin thoughtfully at his phone, then pocketed it. “What should I get you?”

Yuuri had no idea, and he doubted his ability to really think about it. He ended up saying the first thing that popped into his head. “A Moscow Mule.”

Victor winked suggestively, and went off to the bar. It was only after a long moment that Yuuri realized the association of “Moscow” and Victor, and he cringed inwardly. The only way it could’ve been more embarrassing is if he’d ordered a White Russian.

Victor didn’t tease him about it, though, and the drink had a nice kick to it that worked wonders on his drifting mind. It wasn’t long before a tall man Yuuri recognized approached their table, and Victor got up to greet him.

“Christophe!” Victor pulled his friend into an embrace, kissing both his cheeks in greeting.

“ _Salut,_ Victor,” Chris greeted. “ _Ça fait longtemps_! _Ça va_?”

“ _Bien bien, et tu?”_

But Chris didn’t respond, his eyes instead going to Yuuri. “And who is this lovely creature?”

“You should know by now,” Victor said, laughter in his voice. “This is Yuuri Katsuki—costume designer, and love of my life.”

Yuuri got up from the chair to be polite, though he was sure he was flushing head to toe. He timidly offered his hand to shake, but Chris captured it and brought it up to his lips. “I’m honored to finally meet you, Yuuri. The man who finally eased my dear friend’s lonely heart by smashing his ego against a concrete pillar.”

“ _Christophe!”_ Victor hissed.

Yuuri thought his head might boil over, but Chris only laughed good-naturedly. “Forgive me. It truly is a pleasure.”

“L-likewise,” Yuuri stammered out.

“Be careful,” Victor warned. “I’ve seen at least three groups of press here. I’d rather not have my bedroom preferences plastered all over the internet right now, thank you.”

“Except this one, at least,” Chris said suggestively, putting a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Shoo,” Victor said, gesturing with his hand. “Go buy your drink. I need to have some of mine before I’m ready to deal with you.”

Chris gave them both a wink, and left for the bar.

When they sat down again, Victor chose the seat next to Yuuri instead of across from him, leaving the other side empty for Chris. Yuuri leaned into Victor almost instinctively, needing the physical contact.

“Are you sleepy?” Victor murmured, putting an arm around him. “Should we have stayed up in the room?”

“I’m alright,” Yuuri said. “I’m just enjoying you.”

Chris returned shortly with a tall drink of his own, sitting down with all the grace of someone deeply comfortable with their body. In some ways, Chris’s physicality reminded Yuuri of Victor, though there was something _more_ about him that Yuuri couldn’t really pinpoint.

“So,” Chris began, “this is the first time you’ve been together since summer, I take it? That must have been tough.”

“It was,” Victor said, squeezing Yuuri affectionately. “We managed, though.”

“Oh, I’m sure you _managed_ just fine,” Chris said silkily. His smile turned from sly to kind. “Honestly, though, I’m glad for you. I was skeptical when Victor said he was willing to fly halfway across the world to find a man in a catalog, but I know now his instincts were sound. He saw something in you he knew he wanted, even if he didn’t know what it was yet.”

Yuuri looked down at his drink. “It’s a crazy coincidence that it turned out this way.”

“Coincidence, or fate?” Chris asked. “In this case, I don’t think it was a coincidence. I think you two were drawn to each other. You were a fan of Victor’s from a young age, correct?”

Yuuri nodded.

“You two had a connection written in the stars.” Chris held up his finger, and traced a looping pattern in the air between Victor and Yuuri. “A string, tying your souls together.”

“As you can see, Chris believes he has the whole world figured out,” Victor said, taking a sip of his drink.

“Is he so wrong, though?” Yuuri asked. “We talked about a string pulling us along before—what if it _is_ fate?”

“Oh, I already liked you, Yuuri, you don’t have to make me like you more,” Chris said with a smile that could melt steel.

Victor sighed. “Fate or not, I’m not arrogant enough to think I have all the answers. I prefer to live in the moment, and enjoy what I’m given without thinking too hard about where it came from. I think I would go crazy if I believed that all of my life was predetermined from the start.”

“Not everything is predetermined,” Chris said. “Just certain important, life-defining things. I don’t believe everyone has a soulmate, but you two—from what Victor has told me, I firmly believe you are. Things like that don’t just _happen._ ”

“I think they do,” Victor said.

“Spoken like someone’s who’s had a lot of good things happen to him,” Chris teased. “You’re blessed, Victor, admit it. Some benevolent god looked upon you and said ‘he will have good looks, talent, opportunity, and the love of his life.’ That’s not to say you haven’t worked hard, or haven’t had bad things happen to you, but you started with a lot of enviable things.”

Victor shook his head. “See, this is why I don’t accept your worldview. I’m not denying I was born with certain privileges, but to say it was _fate_ takes away the beauty of unknown. The most beautiful moments in life are those least expected. I don’t want my life explained, I don’t want it in neat boxes—I want to experience it as it happens. If you spend your whole life thinking ‘ah, that must be fate, it was inevitable,’ it not only makes you sound arrogant, it cuts away the magic of living.”

“I don’t think it cuts anything away,” Chris said. “If anything, it makes it more beautiful, believing that there’s a measure of organization to the world. I think…”

Yuuri floated on their voices, their quiet, philosophical debate lulling him into a relaxed state. The strong flavor of the drink felt like the only thing tethering him to reality, as without it he might’ve been in a dream.

Yuuri had long known about Victor’s intellectual curiosity and penchant for reading, but it was one thing to read about it in an interview, and quite another to see it in action. Victor asserting his opinions, Victor listening with sharp eyes, Victor’s accented English sounding more learned than most of the people Yuuri had met in the States… Yuuri didn’t think it was possible to admire a person more than he already admired Victor, but again and again he was proven wrong, and he felt all the luckier for it.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri, for steering the conversation in such a direction,” Chris said after a while. “I should have known your lover wouldn’t let me get away with such controversial statements.”

“I don’t mind,” Yuuri said honestly. “I could listen to you two all night.”

“Oh, don’t give him any ideas,” Victor said, with good humor. “But to change the subject to something a little more pertinent—just _what_ is that on your finger, Christophe?”

“Oh, this?” Chris held up his left hand, showing off a shiny gold ring.

Victor reached across the table to pull Chris’s hand in for a closer look. “He proposed?”

“I did,” Chris said. “But I bought a pair so I wouldn’t feel left out.”

Victor grinned. “What happened to ‘ _I don’t propose,’_ hm?”

“Posturing, mostly,” Chris admitted. “I knew the burden would be on me to seal the deal—he’s been devoted for years now. And he really is a treasure; I don’t think I’d find anyone better if I searched the entire world twice over. No offense to you, _mon chéri._ ”

“We had our chance,” Victor said. “You know I’m nothing but happy for you, dear friend. Do you know when the wedding will be?”

“Sometime in the summer,” Chris said. “A private affair in some remote place where we can truly let loose. I don’t yet know if we’re inviting anyone, but you two are on the short list if we do.”

“I’m honored,” Victor said with affection.

“Don’t get all sappy on me now,” Chris said, taking a sip of his drink. “I haven’t had nearly enough alcohol for that.”

Victor laughed. “For someone who loves to romanticize the world so much, you sure like to avoid sentimentality.”

“I withhold my sentimentality for when I believe it’s deserved, and only then,” Chris said. “I used up most of my romance earlier this week, planning that proposal. Then he goes and gets sick, putting our celebration on hold, so I’m reserving what’s left for when he’s better.”

“I hope he feels better soon,” Yuuri said.

Chris reached over and touched Yuuri’s hand. “You’re sweet to say so, thank you. Speaking of romance, do _you_ have anything special planned?”

“I—I don’t—” Yuuri stammered, looking to Victor helplessly.

“Oh, we’ve got more than enough to do to fill our time here,” Victor said smoothly. “Though I get the impression most of it will take place here at the hotel.”

“Just don’t phone in your performances,” Chris said. “You’re here to skate, remember? The whole retirement thing?”

Victor sighed. “And for just a night, I wanted to forget. Don’t worry—when have I ever phoned in my performances?” He held up his hand. “Actually—don’t answer that. Considering present company, I’m probably walking into a minefield.”

“You think I would criticize your skating?” Yuuri asked, giving Victor a hurt look that wasn’t at all serious.

“I’m less worried about you than him,” Victor said, putting a warm arm around Yuuri. “But I’m sure if he got you started, you’d have no trouble chiming in, and I don’t want to listen to any of it.”

Yuuri leaned in close. “Are you sure?” he whispered suggestively in Victor’s ear.

Victor breathed a laugh. “Not tonight. I need at least a little of my ego left intact for tomorrow, and I fear what you two would do to me if you teamed up. Another time.”

“What’s this?” Chris asked silkily. “Did I hear an invitation in there?”

Victor gave Yuuri a meaningful look, raising a questioning eyebrow. “It’s not up to me.”

Something inside Yuuri suddenly awoke to the moment as he realized what was being so casually proposed, and gave a possessive snarl at the thought of another person touching Victor in any intimate way. But that feeling faded after a moment, once Yuuri realized how much Victor might enjoy himself in a situation like that. It wasn’t entirely impossible that Yuuri wouldn’t have fun, either. Another set of eyes, another set of hands, another voice expressing pleasure…

“I’m open to it, if it’s something Victor wants,” Yuuri concluded. He turned to Chris. “Would your fiancé be alright with it, though?”

“He and I have a specific arrangement that allows for situations like these,” Chris said. “That said, I’m not about to sneak around. He would know before it happened, if it happened.”

Victor turned to Yuuri. “I’m both surprised and not surprised that you’re into this.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh. “How do you figure?”

“I’m surprised that you’re not immediately shying away from being in an intimate situation with someone you’ve just met, but I’m also not surprised that you’ve talked yourself into it,” Victor said. He leaned over and kissed Yuuri’s hair. “We can talk more later. Again, I’d prefer to keep public conversations _away_ from bedroom preferences, but I should know to expect it by now.” He shot Chris a dirty look.

Chris drew himself up, offended. “And just _who_ brought it up this time?”

Victor looked aside, feigning innocence, but Yuuri caught the smirk he was hiding behind his drink.

The conversation turned to skating, and while Yuuri listened with rapt attention, he found he didn’t have much to say. He hadn’t followed the sport closely for some years, and most of his recent dives had been centered entirely on Victor, giving him massive blind spots for certain ways the competition had changed. Over the duration of the conversation, several people stopped by their table to greet Victor, Chris, or both—both people they knew, and fans they didn’t. Yuuri was often introduced as Victor’s costume designer, but with affectionate gestures that left the true nature of their relationship unambiguous.

After what must have been at least two hours, Chris received a text from his fiancé, and excused himself for the evening. Yuuri and Victor lingered a little while longer, wanting to finish their drinks.

Yuuri leaned back in his chair and stretched, warm and relaxed with at least three drinks in him, well on the way through his forth.

“So, what did you think of Chris?” Victor asked.

Yuuri thought for a moment of how to phrase his feelings. “He seems… Like someone who would be your friend.”

Victor laughed incredulously. “Are you drunk?”

“Only a little,” Yuuri admitted. “But I mean it like—he’s the type of person I would expect you to be friends with. He’s… Elegant. Worldly. Not at all timid.”

Victor propped his head on a fist, regarding Yuuri with a smile. “You like him?”

Yuuri nodded, flushing. “He’s… I don’t want to say ‘nice,’ really, because that sounds so inane, but he’s pleasant to be around. I like listening to him.”

“Chris’s voice soothed me through some of the roughest moments of my life,” Victor said, clearly remembering with fondness. “He was the only one I could stand to talk to after Makkachin died, and he would just… call me at odd hours to talk about random things. He’d ask me to choose which foods he should eat, or to describe the weather in great detail. Little things that didn’t mean anything, but were enough to keep me talking. Enough to keep me grounded. I would have been utterly alone during that time, if it weren’t for him.”

Yuuri covered Victor’s hand where it rested on his thigh. “It’s clear you love him.”

“He’s taken care of me,” Victor said. “He’s not unlike your Phichit, in some ways. He’s a lot to handle sometimes, and we don’t always agree on things, but…” He smiled. “I’m lucky to have him.”

Yuuri noticed that Victor’s drink was empty, and took the opportunity to drain his own. “Should we go back up?”

“Sure.” Victor slid back his chair, standing and stretching gracefully. Yuuri tried to do the same, but his head spun so much he nearly fell over, having to brace himself on Victor’s arms.

“Woah, are you alright?” Victor asked with a laugh.

“Stood up too fast,” Yuuri muttered. “I’m fine.”

But Victor kept a firm arm around Yuuri all through the lobby, and didn’t let go until they made it back to the room. On the surface, Yuuri was grumpy for being treated like a child, but inside he was happy for the attention. While Victor went to the bathroom, Yuuri flopped onto the bed and rolled onto his back with a sigh.

He wasn’t drunk, exactly, but he felt lightheaded, a different sort of floaty feeling than the one he had before.

Victor emerged from the bathroom and grinned at Yuuri before getting on his hands and knees on top of him, his body radiating heat. He found Yuuri’s hands and laced their fingers together.

“I’ve got you,” Victor said, and gave Yuuri the sweetest of kisses along his cheek. Yuuri couldn’t help but giggle at the excess of affection.

“You have me,” Yuuri said, and tilted his head up, offering a real kiss. Victor took it, slowly and sweetly, before pulling away to look down at Yuuri.

“I love you,” Victor said softly. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t believe I’m here, either,” Yuuri said. “ _Yume mitai.”_

Wait. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Or in that language. Perhaps he was drunker than he realized.

“It is like a dream, isn’t it?” Victor said, words barely above a whisper.

“You understood that?” Yuuri asked, impressed. “When did you learn Japanese?”

“I’ve been studying here and there in my spare time,” Victor said with a sheepish smile. “I’m not very good, yet. The written language is still confusing to me, but I’m catching a few phrases when I listen.”

Yuuri felt so touched it was overwhelming. He pulled Victor down against him, crushing their bodies together in a tight hug. “I love you so much. Just when I think you’re done surprising me, you throw something else at me that makes me love you even more.”

Victor gave a strained laugh, and Yuuri relaxed his grip so they could both breathe. Victor lifted up and gave Yuuri another long, slow kiss. For a few quiet moments they simply enjoyed each other, with gentle touches and soft sighs. Yuuri’s body was still sated from their earlier sex, but he still had a thirst for Victor’s skin, and tugged at Victor’s shirt until it came untucked from his pants.

“I just want to touch you,” Yuuri said at Victor’s questioning look. “Can I?”

Victor sat up on his knees, and removed his shirt for Yuuri, the buttons coming undone slowly, teasingly, until Yuuri almost couldn’t handle it.

“Every time I think I’m going to get used to looking at you, but it never happens,” Yuuri said breathlessly, putting his hands reverently at Victor’s hips. “You’re a vision, every time.”

Victor’s smile turned sad. “You know I won’t be looking like this for much longer. I don’t intend to let myself go completely, but I’m not going to keep my training schedule once I retire.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Yuuri said. “I’d rather have a partner who’s happy and relaxed than one who kills himself to maintain the body of a god. I don’t think it will matter to me, though—no matter how much you change, I think you’ll still be as breathtakingly beautiful as when I first saw you.”

Victor’s eyes crinkled with a full smile, and he fell back down onto his hands, giving Yuuri more skin to touch. “You’re more talkative when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Yuuri insisted. “But… maybe my tongue did loosen a little. I’m just… I still can’t believe I’m with you again. I had no idea how to react when I arrived, and I think a part of me is so overwhelmed with all these feelings that I don’t know how to express them other than simply… telling you.” He ran his palms across Victor’s rippling chest. “And touching you.”

Victor pulled away again, and Yuuri wanted to protest, but he only pulled Yuuri up with him, and started carefully unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt.

“You really were okay with telling people about our relationship,” Yuuri babbled on, his thoughts falling through his alcohol-weakened filter.

“Is it so unexpected?”

“I didn’t know what to expect, honestly.” Yuuri let his garments fall to the floor, shuddering as Victor’s fingertips brushed his cooling skin. “I’ve never been with a celebrity before.”

Victor laughed. “A celebrity?”

Yuuri laid back down, and pulled Victor to lay beside him. “If you’re a celebrity anywhere, it’s here. I saw the way those fans looked at you.”

“Celebrity or not,” Victor said, hand resting on Yuuri’s exposed waist, “if it weren’t entirely inappropriate, I would have shouted for the whole lobby to hear that we were together. I would have shouted it from the rooftops in front of a thousand reporters, if I could. I couldn’t contain my love even if I were asked, and I’m glad no one is asking me to.”

“Will your fans be upset, when word gets out?” Yuuri asked.

Victor pulled Yuuri’s glasses off his face, carefully folded them, and reached up to set them on the table. “My true fans will be happy for me, and anyone else will move on. Which I hope they all do, eventually. Other skaters are far more deserving of devotion.”

Yuuri smirked. “You hope they _all_ move on?”

“Well, not all of them,” Victor said, leaning in close with a hand on Yuuri’s cheek. “I hope one will stay with me.” He kissed Yuuri slowly and meaningfully, both of them savoring the taste.

At that opportune moment, Yuuri’s stomach decided to lurch and growl, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since before his flight. He’d been able to ignore it under the immense distraction that was Victor Nikiforov, but by now he’d definitely put it off too long.

Victor made a half-hearted attempt to hold back, but only lasted a second before he burst into laughter, curling over and clutching his middle.

“You’re so mean,” Yuuri said, turning away with a pout.

Still laughing, Victor got up and went to the desk, procuring a booklet. He pressed it into Yuuri’s hands. “Tell me what you want.”

Yuuri sat up with a frown. “There’s a McDonalds across the street, I could just—”

“No,” Victor said firmly. “I’m not letting you eat junk tonight. You’re going to let me treat you, and I’m going to watch you enjoy your food.”

“What about you?” Yuuri asked, his eyes already scanning the menu and finding several things that sounded amazing.

“Strict performance diet,” Victor said. “Don’t worry about me, though—just order exactly what you want.”

Yuuri gave him a questioning look. “Strict performance diet? After all those drinks?”

“Who said there was any alcohol in my drinks?” Victor asked with amusement.

That didn’t seem quite right. “But you said before—”

“I was teasing Chris,” Victor said. “Neither of us drink before a competition.”

“So you guys let me drink by myself?” Yuuri whined. “You’re awful.”

“I honestly didn’t know we’d stay down there so long for it to make any difference,” Victor said, sitting down beside Yuuri. “Does it bother you?”

“I guess not,” Yuuri said. “But still—I would have liked to know. I don’t like drinking alone.”

“Noted,” Victor said, and gave Yuuri a kiss on his cheek. “Someday, I promise to give you the full experience of a drunk Chris. Trust me—it’s a sight to behold.”

“And a drunk you?”

Victor only laughed. “Pick out your dinner.”

Yuuri was just hungry enough that he didn’t feel the need to balk the prices. He picked out a pasta dish with salmon, along with some warm bread and butter. By the time his food arrived, he was starving, the smell of garlic making him salivate.

Victor spent some time unpacking his clothes and looking at his phone while Yuuri ate, though every so often Yuuri caught him staring—not at the food, but at him. “It’s really good,” Yuuri felt the need to say, the third time he caught Victor’s eyes on him.

“I can tell,” Victor said. “I’m a little jealous, but you enjoying it is enough for me. I can almost imagine how it tastes, just watching your face.”

Yuuri still didn’t know how to feel about Victor’s fascination with watching him eat, but he let it happen, because there was nothing wrong with it.

A familiar buzz came from the desk, and Victor went over to investigate. “It’s Phichit calling.”

Yuuri hastily swallowed his bite and gestured for his phone, then jammed the answer button. “You’re on speaker,” he said, setting his phone down. “I’m eating dinner.”

_“Oh, fun! Is Victor there?”_

“Hi Phichit!” Victor said cheerfully.

“We’re in the hotel room right now,” Yuuri said.

_“Oh my,”_ Phichit said suggestively. _“Well, I was going to call just to check in and make sure you got there alright, but I stumbled across something that told me everything I needed to know.”_

Yuuri swallowed his bite. “What do you mean by that?”

_“One sec.”_ Phichit was silent for a moment. _“Okay. Victor, check your phone.”_

Victor picked up his phone where it lay on the bedside table. “A video link?”

_“Yeah, watch that real quick.”_

Victor brought his phone closer to Yuuri so they could both watch, and the video started playing, the place immediately familiar. Whoever held the camera wasn’t exactly steady, but the video zoomed in, and there was Victor, scanning the crowd of the busy airport. His eyes fixated on something, and not three seconds later Yuuri was there, openly kissing him. Someone near the camera gasped and said something in a language Yuuri wasn’t familiar with, and Yuuri finally saw the young woman who had so kindly brought his luggage to him. They exchanged their words and walked out of the airport, the camera following them until they were out of sight.

It was all over in the span of less than a minute, which was surreal to watch, considering how it had felt like an eternity in the airport.

_“Did you watch it?”_ Phichit asked impatiently.

“…Yeah,” Yuuri said. “Who sent this to you?”

_“Oh, it’s all over twitter right now. You’ve practically gone viral, at least in the figure skating circles. Someone even confirmed who you were, Yuuri, after claiming to see you in person at the hotel bar.”_

“Must have been one of the fans,” Victor said thoughtfully. He shrugged and smiled. “Well, I guess it’s really out now. What’s the mood like?”

_“Generally shocked, a little confused. Some mean comments here and there from a few teenagers who can’t keep their shitty opinions to themselves, but they’re being cowed by your usuals. I’d say trending towards positive, but I think a lot of people are just waiting for tomorrow. Should I stick my nose in and knock down any stupid rumors?”_

“Don’t bother,” Victor said. “I’ll give an interview sometime soon and set the record straight. I’m sure the reporters are just dying to get some details about my personal life.”

“You always were something of an enigma,” Yuuri said.

_“Got it. How are you two, by the way?”_

“We’re good,” Yuuri said.

Victor squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder. “Never better, though I wish you could’ve come, too.”

_“Aw, that’s sweet. Leo’s somehow managed to get tickets to the GPF this year, so if Guang-Hong makes it again, I’ll probably be going to cheer him on. I’m sure I’ll see you there, in that case.”_

“I look forward to it,” Victor said cheerfully.

“I didn’t leave you too much work, did I?” Yuuri asked.

_“Nah, I’m fine. Like I mentioned, I had Leo help me with the photos today, and I’m finishing off your skirt just now. I’ll manage without you for a few more days—you just need to make sure you come back.”_

“I don’t know if I can let him go back,” Victor teased.

_“Victor, I love you, but if you take Yuuri away from me for good I will figure out where you keep your costumes and tear them apart seam by seam while you watch.”_

Yuuri couldn’t tell if he was acting for effect or not, but Victor visibly shuddered. “Noted. You’ll get him back. But eventually I’ll be coming with him.”

_“I’m more than fine with that,”_ Phichit said cheerfully. _“Anyway, I’ll let you two go. I need to finish up this skirt and get over to Leo’s to watch the stream tomorrow.”_

“Alright,” Yuuri said. “Enjoy your evening.”

“And thank you for letting us know about the video,” Victor chimed in.

_“Of course! And… not to trivialize what you two are going through, but that airport meeting was so stupidly romantic it made me cry.”_

Yuuri laughed. “Yeah, but you cry at cheesy Hallmark movies.”

_“Hey, not all of them!”_ Phichit laughed resignedly. _“But seriously, you guys… I love you both. I hope you enjoy each other. And good luck tomorrow, Victor. I’ll be cheering you on, even if you can’t hear me.”_

“Thank you,” Victor said earnestly.

“Goodnight, Phichit,” Yuuri said.

_“Goodnight!”_

Yuuri hung up with a sigh. Victor leaned in, eyes concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yuuri said, and put his phone aside. “Not exactly how I imagined things coming out.”

“It’s not bad, though, is it?” Victor asked, perching on the edge of the bed. “I mean, we knew we were in public.”

“I wasn’t thinking, to be honest…” Yuuri readied another bite of his food, but couldn’t bring himself to actually eat it. “I’d worried about it at first, but that all sort of went away when I saw you again. I only had one thing on my mind in that moment, and it wasn’t about how public we were.”

Victor frowned. “What’s bothering you?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I’m not bothered—at least, not much. But knowing there are people looking at me, seeing me in that video, saying things about me… It’s a strange feeling. I’ve only ever been on the other end of it.”

“It does take some getting used to,” Victor said. “But it’s best not to think about them. They don’t matter. I’m going to announce everything tomorrow to the first person who tries to interview me. Hopefully I can do a good job convincing them how happy I am with you.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Yuuri said with a weak smile. He put down his fork, giving up. “I guess I’m just kicking myself for not mentally preparing better. I spent so much of my life admiring you while you were under the spotlight, but somehow, being with you made me forget all about it. I didn’t think about how it would feel to be under it beside you, and now I’m not sure how to react to it.”

“If you’re uncomfortable with it, we don’t have to—”

“I’m not going to hide,” Yuuri interjected, before Victor could suggest anything else. “You said yourself you can’t hide the way you feel about me, and if the whole world has to know you’re mine, that we’re together, then so be it. I don’t want you to feel like you have to downplay it for my sake.”

Victor touched Yuuri’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”

Yuuri leaned into the touch. “Who wouldn’t want to be paraded around as the man who captured Victor Nikiforov’s heart? I don’t care if they hate me. I don’t care if they call me ugly or unworthy—I know the truth of what I am to you.”

“Anyone who calls you ugly doesn’t have eyes,” Victor said with affection. “But if at any moment it feels like it’s too much for you—tell me, alright? I admit I didn’t think about it much, either, bringing you into this life, but now I realize how vulnerable I’m making you for my selfish reasons.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll be fine,” Yuuri said. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I know how to ignore people. You and I—maybe we can even make a show of it.”

“A show?” Victor asked, clearly intrigued.

The idea took hold, rooting into Yuuri’s mind as soon as he said it. “I won’t hide. I’ll be by your side whenever I can. We can let the cameras see, let them talk and ask questions. We don’t have to answer anything, but let our actions speak for us instead.”

Victor laughed with delight. “Are you sure you want this?”

Yuuri didn’t have to think very hard before answering. “It’ll be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for taking so long to update this time around. I normally like to do two chapters at once, but I really wanted to let you all know that this isn't abandoned. I had a few things working against me this time, what with the holidays and other projects I felt needed my attention, as well as a few personal stresses that made it difficult for me to sit down and write. This chapter was also hard for me to write on a emotional level, as I had to tap into some difficult memories, and I got stuck a few times because of it. Reunions are tricky for me. 
> 
> I know I've picked up a few readers since the last time, and I'm so grateful you took the time to read. I'm not always the best at responding to comments, but I want you to all know that you're appreciated, and all your bewildering praise is a huge motivation boost for me. 
> 
> Though I can't make any promises, I'm going to try my best to keep a tighter update pace going forward. I'd like to finish this fic sometime within the next few months, though sometimes I feel like I could write on this story forever. Thank you as always for reading, and I hope the update leaves you satisfied enough until next time.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a little while, sorry for the delay! There are two chapters in this update--I'll give more info at the end.

“Ah, we really don’t deserve dogs,” Victor said wistfully, standing with Yuuri as he waited for his morning coffee.

“Do you mean ‘we’ as in, you and me?” Yuuri asked. “Or ‘we’ as a species?”

“A species,” Victor clarified. “They’re just so helplessly loyal. They need us for just a few things, but in return they devote their entire lives to us. It’s really not a fair trade. We don’t deserve that level of nearly-unconditional love.”

Yuuri was fascinated by Victor’s sincerity, though it wasn’t entirely unexpected, considering he’d just spent a solid five minutes interacting with a big fluffy dog they’d met in the lobby.

“Have you ever considered adopting a dog?” Victor asked.

Yuuri thought he’d heard the barista call his name, but a woman came forward, and Yuuri caught the name “Julie” on the side of the cup she carried away. “Hm? Oh, I can’t really keep a dog.” When Yuuri turned and saw Victor’s face, he nearly flinched. It was so sullen. “Wha—what’s wrong?”

“Why can’t you?” Victor looked like he seriously might cry.

“I—I work with fabrics for a living,” Yuuri explained. “We can’t keep a dog, or any pet, in the workshop. I wouldn’t even allow Phichit to have hamsters, though I admit I was probably being a little too paranoid about that rule.”

Victor didn’t seem any happier about that explanation, his shoulders drooping.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri finally asked.

“I was hoping to adopt a dog or two after I retire,” Victor said. His voice was so sad, Yuuri felt it in his chest. “I don’t want to do anything that might interfere with your business, but it was one of the things I was really looking forward to.”

“Victor, it’s okay,” Yuuri soothed. They’d called his name just as Victor started talking, but Yuuri ignored it for a second. “You can still adopt dogs. They just… couldn’t live at the workshop. We could live together somewhere else.”

“But you love your apartment…” Victor whined.

Yuuri tugged him by the sleeve while he went up to the counter to retrieve his coffee, then pulled him outside. The blast of cold air was almost refreshing after the stiflingly warm café. “I love my apartment because I live there with Phichit. I’m sure I would love anyplace I shared with you even more.”

“But it’s your business,” Victor said. “I couldn’t ask you to—”

“I’m not giving up much by moving out of the workshop,” Yuuri said. This whole conversation was making him a little anxious, considering they hadn’t explicitly said they’d be moving in together before. Yuuri knew he _wanted_ to, and they probably would, but it felt like they’d leapt over some important step somewhere. “It would probably be better for me if I did, actually, considering how prone I am to working late.”

Victor’s arm was warm around Yuuri’s shoulders as they walked back to the hotel. “I don’t want to disrupt your life.”

Yuuri laughed. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t already. Are _you_ sure you want to move to Detroit?”

“I’m going to be where you are,” Victor said. “It’s not much of a sacrifice for me. As long as I can skate, and be with you, I can make a home for myself. Dogs help, too, but I’d be willing to give them up if I had to.”

“And like I said, you wouldn’t have to,” Yuuri said, leaning into him. “I’m a little amazed at how much you’re thinking forward when you’ve got a competition looming over your head.”

“I’ve had competitions looming over my head for the better part of twenty years,” Victor said. “But having a future that’s not more of the same—that’s new to me.”

Though the cold had been refreshing at first, by the time they made it back to the hotel, Yuuri was shivering and grateful for the warmth of the lobby. He’d managed to sleep off most of the strange, floating feeling of yesterday, but he still felt far from normal, strangers’ eyes hastily turning away from him every time he looked around. To keep his anxiety at bay, he made his best attempt to focus everything on Victor.

Which, Yuuri would admit, was pretty easy.

Photos, phones, and grainy, dark webcam videos just didn’t capture what made Victor so entrancing in person. They missed things, like his little hand gestures, the way his hair would move when he turned, the sparkle in his eyes when he’d speak about something that pleased him. The depth of his voice. The tiny little smiles that he would always give when he caught Yuuri looking at him.

And nothing artificial could have possibly conveyed his warm energy. Yuuri had long thought of Victor as a generally friendly, but often closed and distant person, and not without reason. To other people, he often kept his real feelings close, filling conversation space with charming-but-inane banter. With Yuuri, though, he spoke his feelings freely, starting conversations whenever thoughts popped into his head as if he were dying to let them loose.

Yuuri had only ever had two friends like this before, friends who would unleash their thoughts and feelings on him without thinking, and he wouldn’t have expected Victor fall in among them so seamlessly. But, though they hadn’t even been together for an entire day, Yuuri was starting to understand that maybe Victor needed someone like that in his life. Someone to siphon away the excess thoughts.

“Yakov!”

Victor spotted his coach sitting in a chair by the lit fireplace in the center of the lobby. He’d retired early the previous night, so Yuuri hadn’t had a chance to meet him properly just yet.

Yuuri had been dreading it and looking forward to it in equal measure. He had no idea how Yakov would regard him, and he was afraid of saying something stupid, but Yuuri would be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t eager to take a step further into Victor’s life—to fit into his world more.

Yakov looked up at them as they approached. He didn’t stand, but his sit was imposing enough as it was, and Yuuri couldn’t tell if his frown was in disapproval or just the natural state of his face. “What are you doing, shouting across the lobby like that?”

Victor smiled sheepishly and rubbed his neck in a way that reminded Yuuri of a scolded teenager who knew he wasn’t in any real trouble. “I wanted you to meet Yuuri.”

Yakov gave Yuuri a long look, until Yuuri realized he might should say something. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Feltsman.”

“Yakov,” he grumbled, taking Yuuri’s hand in a firm handshake. “I hope Vitya’s not getting you into trouble.”

“Not at all,” Yuuri said with a nervous laugh.

“We went viral last night,” Victor said cheerfully.

Yakov sighed with a heaviness that only an old man could muster. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

“A video of us is getting shared around,” Victor said, quickly pulling it up on his phone. He held it out for Yakov to see. “I’m going to give an interview or something today after practice to let everyone know the details.”

“Tell me what details you’re planning on sharing,” Yakov grumbled.

“’Yuuri Katsuki is my costume designer, and we are in a relationship,’” Victor recited. “’Both of my costumes for this season were designed by him, and he has been immensely helpful in making this transition into retirement easier. I request that our privacy be respected, especially his.’”

“Is he the reason you’re retiring?” Yakov asked.

Yuuri wanted to immediately protest, but Victor tightened his fingers on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I’ve been considering retiring for a long time. He had nothing to do with my decision.”

“Do you have a financial partnership with him? Is he sponsoring you?” Yakov asked.

“I have compensated Yuuri fairly for his services, and we have no partnership beyond our personal one,” Victor said.

“Are you planning on moving out of Russia following your retirement?”

“That is not decided at this time,” Victor said. “Nor, I’d like to add, is anything considering my career post retirement.”

Yuuri became fascinated by this exchange as Yakov rattled off a few more questions, and Victor gave answers that sounded carefully prepared and professional, yet not too stiff at the same time. He’d never thought about Yakov coaching Victor on how to act around the press, but Yuuri supposed Victor’s skills had to come from somewhere. At the end of it, Yakov nodded in approval, and Victor seemed proud of himself.

“I’m going to the rink early,” Yakov said. “Be at practice on time or I’ll make you explain why.”

“Understood,” Victor said, and turned to leave, urging Yuuri alongside him.

Back in the hotel room, Victor immediately gave Yuuri a sweet kiss. “He likes you.”

“He does?” Yuuri asked, his heart fluttering. He was still getting used to Victor’s spontaneous affection.

“Mmhmm,” Victor said, rubbing his cold nose against Yuuri’s neck. “He wouldn’t have spoken to you at all if he didn’t.”

“But I barely said anything,” Yuuri said. He tilted his head to give Victor more access.

“He’s old; it doesn’t take much for him to make a decision about a person.” Victor lightly pressed his teeth into Yuuri’s skin, and pulled away. “And he doesn’t usually offer people his given name on a first meeting. He must approve.”

“I still don’t think I did anything to make a good impression,” Yuuri said. Victor turned to walk away, and Yuuri had to resist the urge to pull him back. Victor’s attention was too addictive.

“You don’t have to do anything in particular to make a good impression,” Victor said, perching on the bed. “You just have to avoid making a bad one. Yakov isn’t an easy person to please, but he knows people. He can tell in seconds whether or not a person is worth his time.”

Yuuri sipped at his coffee and set it down. “Could I look over your costumes?”

Victor frowned. “Are you that worried about them?”

“If there’s a problem, I’d like to know as soon as I can,” Yuuri said. He opened the closet and pulled out the thick garment bag Victor had hung in there, laying it carefully on the bed. “You did some dress rehearsals, I take it?”

“About five times each,” Victor said. “Only twice with all the jumps, though. Didn’t want to risk tearing them.”

Yuuri unzipped the bag and pulled out the costumes. “And they both move alright? There’s no tightness or pulling anywhere?”

“Nowhere.”

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked. He turned the King costume to look at the back, running his finger along the crystal pattern to check it thoroughly. “Not even a tiny bit somewhere?”

“Absolutely sure. They’re perfect, Yuuri.”

Satisfied the King jacket was intact, Yuuri turned his attention to the Queen. “Did you pack the brooch separately? Or perhaps you decided not to use it…”

“I packed it in my carryon bag,” Victor said. “In a small box next to my skates. Couldn’t risk it getting crushed—or lost.”

Yuuri was touched Victor considered it important enough to carry with his precious skates. “May I see it?”

While Victor procured it, Yuuri looked over the feathers of the Queen jacket, noticing a few of them had been crushed in the bag, setting them at odd angles. It didn’t look terrible aesthetically, but he wanted to be completely sure they didn’t bother Victor’s neck.

“I think it looks okay,” Victor said, holding out the little box. Yuuri carefully plucked out the brooch and cradled it in his palm.

“You’ve taken good care of it,” Yuuri said. “I was kind of kicking myself after I sent it, because it really didn’t need to be so fragile. I could’ve used something else to make it, but I was stubborn with how I wanted it to look.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Victor said. “I still can’t believe you made it yourself.”

Yuuri held it up to the lamp, checking for imperfections or any signs of wear. It looked much as it had when he’d sent it, which was a good sign. Even in the relatively dim light of the room, it twinkled beautifully.

“Do you… want to know about the roses?” Victor asked, his voice hesitant and oddly quiet. “About what they mean to me?”

Yuuri replaced the brooch in the box, and sat down on a clear space of bed. “If you want to tell me, of course I’d like to know. I didn’t know there was a deeper story.”

Victor reached over and picked up the box, smiling sadly. “That night you showed me your sketches of the rose pattern was one of the first moments I knew I was helplessly falling in love with you. You remember I suddenly left that night? I almost told you everything, then.”

“I remember being confused,” Yuuri said. “But you seemed normal after that, so I thought it was just my imagination.”

“I was… shaken,” Victor said. “While it’s true that roses are particularly important to me, the reason is a deeply personal one, and not one I share freely. It’s a story I’ve only ever told Yakov and Chris, and it wasn’t easy deciding to tell either of them. The idea that you had _guessed,_ even on a surface level, that they were important to me… I honestly didn’t know how to feel. I was terrified to be so vulnerable to someone I barely knew, but I also felt this incredible sense of being seen, of being understood without having to explain myself.”

Yuuri couldn’t handle being so far away. He carefully slid the costumes aside, and moved closer to Victor, so he could reach out and touch his shoulder. “I’d be honored if you told me, but if it’s too difficult, I don’t need to know right now.”

Victor shook his head. “I should have told you this story ages ago. I had every intention of sharing it with you after we got together, but our time together was cut short, and I could never bring myself to say it over the phone.”

Yuuri found Victor’s hand and held it gently. He didn’t know what to say, but he wanted Victor to know he was listening.

“It’s safe to say you don’t know much about my parents, yes?”

“I know a little about your father,” Yuuri admitted. “But not much. I know nothing of the rest of your family.”

“Well, it probably won’t surprise you that there’s a reason.” Victor shifted, turning his body more towards Yuuri. “It goes without saying that this story is not one I’d like circulated without my permission—I hate to ask you to keep things from Phichit, but I’d feel more at ease if you didn’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” Yuuri promised. “I share a lot with him, but I don’t tell him everything—especially not when it comes to you. He understands that.”

Victor took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “Growing up, my father and mother weren’t together. I was never told the full details of their relationship, and I’m not entirely sure I ever want to know. I lived with my mother and her mother for the first eight years of my life. I was their treasure—my mother showed me such love and affection that, of the very few things I remember about her, that’s what stands out the most. She hugged me a lot, spoiled me with cookies, and every weekend let me stay up late and watch movies with her. My grandmother didn’t always approve—she was the one who disciplined me when I acted up—but mostly, my years there were happy.”

Yuuri swallowed. He could sense the turn in the story, and already he was dreading the worst.

“I didn’t know then that the reason my mother showed me such affection was because she was dying. Her illness didn’t affect her day-to-day much, but on occasion she would disappear for a few days, and I would be left with my grandmother. They always said, ‘she’s just gone to visit a cousin, she’ll be back soon,’ and I had no reason to question them, because she did always come back. Then one day, they stopped lying, and told me she wouldn’t be back again. I demanded to see her, and they finally took me to the hospital.”

Victor wiped at his eyes, though his voice remained steady. “My mother couldn’t work due to her illness, but she liked to keep busy, so she spent a lot of her time in the warmer months working in the garden at our house. She grew all sorts of flowers, but the roses were always her favorite. She grew so many that she would often give them away as gifts to the kind neighbors who would come by and help us out.” He sniffed. “When I went into her hospital room, that first time I knew she was dying, it was full to the brim with roses. There wasn’t even a place to sit. All the neighbors had sent her roses, so she could spend her last days surrounded by symbols of the love she’d shared with them. My mother… she was so small and weak, but she still smiled when she saw me. She apologized for never telling me the truth, but she said she wanted me to have nothing but happy memories of her. I was only eight, but somehow I understood, or at least I told her as much. We spent her last days together, and she passed peacefully during the night.”

Yuuri felt hot tears fall down his cheeks, but couldn’t move, couldn’t take even an ounce of attention away from Victor.

“Her funeral was full of roses, too,” Victor said. “I could smell them for days afterward, and it was to the point that I felt sick with grief whenever I so much as saw one. It was a small blessing that I went to live with my father after that, because by then I couldn’t stand to be around any roses, much less the ones she’d grown herself. Unfortunately, I didn’t return to my grandmother’s house until years later, and by then, all the roses had died from neglect.”

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri said, his voice unable to rise above a whisper.

Victor shook his head, a sad smile below his shining eyes. “My grief has mostly faded—it’s been over twenty years, after all—but roses always remind me of her. I was hesitant to tell you about them at first, because I didn’t want you to think you shouldn’t use them.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t have used them so flippantly if I’d—”

“And see, that’s what I didn’t want,” Victor said. “I loved that you saw something in me that told you they were important to me, even if you didn’t know. It makes it seem like… I don’t know, like the roses were a part of me, a part of who I am. And I could think of no better embellishment to costumes meant to celebrate my years as a skater. My mother gave me my very first pair of skates, and encouraged me to follow my silly childhood dream for as long as it carried me.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to know how far it carried you,” Yuuri said. He let go of Victor’s hand to slide his arm around Victor’s back. “Thank you for telling me all this. It can’t have been easy.”

“It’s easy to tell someone like you,” Victor said, leaning into him. “Someone important to me, whom I love. But roses are a weakness of mine. It would only take one awful person to ruin them for me, and I don’t want anything surrounding my mother to be tainted. Those are some of the purest, happiest memories of my life—which is why I never asked my father why he and my mother weren’t together. I prefer to think of her as just a happy angel who blessed my early years before she had to return to heaven, not the flawed human I’m sure she was.”

“How is your father, by the way?” Yuuri tried asking.

“He’s well, from what I know,” Victor said, pulling away. “He and I haven’t spoken much the past ten years or so.”

“What happened?”

Victor laughed. “Trying to wring my whole life story out of me, aren’t you?”

Yuuri felt hurt. “I was just—”

Victor soothed him with a hand on his face. “It’s alright. I don’t want to get into the details, since it’s full of unnecessary drama and pettiness on both our parts, but he and I didn’t always see eye to eye when it came to my career. He became overbearing, thinking that he knew what was best for me when he didn’t know anything. His only experience with figure skating came through me, and when I made it clear I trusted Yakov more than him, he grew upset. He and I share a competitive spirit, but he tried to use that spirit on Yakov, and I decided it would be better if he stepped out of my career altogether. It took a lot of yelling, but eventually he agreed to leave us alone, and our relationship has been fairly cold since then. He still comes to my competitions when they’re in Russia, but if we speak to each other, it’s never more than a few words.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Yuuri said.

“It’s fine,” Victor said. “I’m not angry or upset at him—not anymore. But if he’s not going to put for an effort to make amends, I’m probably not going to, either.”

“Do you… Have any other family? I’m guessing you were an only child, but what about your grandmother?”

“She passed a few years after my mother,” Victor said. “I still regret not spending more time with her. I also have a stepsister twelve years my senior that I’ve only met once. She and my father don’t get along, either.”

“Oh.”

“And I believe I have an aunt and some cousins somewhere, but I’ve never met them. My mother was an only child.” He lowered his eyes. “I’ve never felt like I’ve had much of a family, but I didn’t care so much when my entire life was skating.”

Yuuri felt at a loss for words, knowing whatever he said wouldn’t hold the weight it needed to be meaningful. He thought of his own family, his own warm, supportive family that he barely spoke to and hadn’t visited in too many years, and felt suddenly guilty.

Right then, though, it wasn’t about him and his feelings. “Do you need anything from me?” he asked Victor.

Victor smiled, getting up to straddle Yuuri’s lap. “I need everything from you. I need your hair, I need your eyes, I need these cheeks—” he squeezed Yuuri’s face “—I need these lips—” he kissed him briefly “—I need all of you. Forget about my family—I belong to _you_. You’re all the family I need. My treasure, my love, my soulmate.”

Yuuri smiled teasingly. “So you admit we’re soulmates, then?”

“I just don’t like Chris to believe he’s right about everything,” Victor said with a pout. “But I can’t deny my soul, or whatever part of me it is that defines who I am, is only happy with you. Being with you is the closest I’ve ever reached to those impossibly happy memories of my childhood, and it makes me want to grab hold of you and never let go.”

They simply held each other for a long time, letting those heavy feelings drain away until there was nothing left but the pure enjoyment of each other’s presence. Time seemed to disappear, surrounded by Victor’s heavy warmth. Yuuri was sure he’d be happy to stay that way forever.

But before long, it was time to leave. Yuuri carefully stowed away Victor’s costumes, promising to himself to look them over more thoroughly once more before they were needed.

To Yuuri’s surprise, when they got to the rink, he was given a pass that allowed him to follow Victor wherever he went for the duration of the event, even to areas restricted only to skaters and coaches. He couldn’t help but stare at it.

“Why do you keep looking at it?” Victor asked as he pulled off his skate guards before stepping on the ice. “Are you that surprised?”

 “I didn’t expect to be _here,_ at the sidelines,” Yuuri admitted. “I thought I’d be watching from the stands.”

Victor skated around until he was leaning on the barrier between them, and took Yuuri’s hands in his own. “I want to know where you are the entire time I skate.”

“Even during your performances?” Yuuri asked breathlessly.

“ _Especially_ then.” Victor pulled Yuuri forward, their lips meeting as if drawn by magnets. It was a chaste kiss, but the fact that they were in a very public place, with other people watching, made Yuuri’s heart race. Victor pulled away and let go, skating off to a clear space of ice.

Yuuri flushed as he noticed people staring at him, but he tried his best not to make eye contact. He knew he didn’t belong there, and he knew he’d have nothing to say if they tried to speak to him. He was here for one reason only, and that was to be there for Victor.

“I haven’t seen him this focused in years,” a voice grumbled behind Yuuri.

Yuuri flinched, turning to see Yakov leaning on his cane, giving Yuuri that piercing stare that saw too much. “Is—is that so?”

Yakov set his cane to the side and rested his arms on the barrier. For a long time he didn’t speak, and when Yuuri glanced over, he wasn’t even sure the coach was watching his skater.

Yuuri turned back just in time to see Victor launch into a magnificent spin, so flawlessly graceful even some of the other skaters stopped to stare. Yuuri always forgot to breathe when he watched Victor skate—just the idea that he was a _person,_ a human being, and he could move his body like _that_ seemed so surreal to him.

“Too slow,” Yakov muttered. “He can do better.”

 _Who asked you?_ Yuuri’s mind said bitterly. But it would have been an unbelievably rude thing to say to one of the most esteemed coaches of the sport. And he was probably right, all things considered, even if Yuuri didn’t want to admit it.

“Katsuki.”

“Ye-yes?”

Yakov turned to him, but it took a moment for him to speak. Whatever he wanted to say seemed difficult for him to get out. “Has he mentioned to you his plans after retirement?”

“He hasn’t talked to you about it?” Yuuri asked, sweating at being put on the spot.

Yakov only grunted. He clearly wanted a better answer from Yuuri.

“Not—not really,” Yuuri said. “I think it’s something you’d be better off asking him about.”

Another long silence stretched between them, Yuuri’s nerves making it difficult to enjoy Victor’s skating. He wished he could teleport to the other side of the rink, so he could watch Victor in peace.

“I’m not going to stop him, whatever it is,” Yakov said quietly. “I’ve long learned my lesson that it’s usually better to let him do what he wants. I only wish… I wish he’d tell me the truth. I know he’s going to leave us. He doesn’t need to say anything—I see it in his eyes.”

“If you know, then why don’t you ask him?”

Yakov grunted.

“You’re going to be disappointed if you’re waiting for him to talk to you about it,” Yuuri said. “He won’t say anything until he’s already packed and ready to leave, because it won’t be until then that he’s finally made the decision.”

A long silence lingered between them, until eventually Yakov picked up his cane and walked away. Yuuri cringed, wondering if he’d been too blunt. So much for a good first impression. He’d really been in America too long, to speak like that to someone as respected as Yakov.

But how could Yakov have known Victor for so many years and yet not understand that Victor wasn’t going to say anything until the decision was already made? Perhaps he _had_ known, and was simply too stubborn to do anything about it except fish for information. If that had been the case—well, Yuuri didn’t feel so terrible about his bluntness, then.

Victor was running through the same bit of choreography over and over, a fancy step sequence that looked incredibly difficult to Yuuri’s relatively untrained eye. It mesmerized Yuuri, making him forget about everyone and everything else around him, drowning out even the ambient sound of the rink. It thrusted him back to a simpler time in his life, when his whole world was Victor Nikiforov’s skating, and he couldn’t wait to run home from school to rewatch his favorite performances.

Yuuri needed to pull himself together. If watching Victor practice mere pieces of a refined program made him feel this giddy, he just might faint when watching Victor perform _entire_ programs, complete with music, from the sidelines. And that was to say nothing of the fact that Victor would be wearing costumes made entirely by Yuuri’s hand.

Yuuri didn’t fully return to himself until skaters started leaving the rink, and Victor came back to his side.

“Everything okay?”

Yuuri shook his head to clear it. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He offered a smile. “You were beautiful.”

“You’re the only one I know who can watch me practice with such rapt attention,” Victor said, amused. “You didn’t even glance at your phone once.”

Yuuri didn’t think Victor had noticed him watching—he’d seemed so focused his whole time on the ice. “I can’t spend this rare opportunity looking at my phone.”

Victor put an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “You almost make me want to keep competing, just so I can keep that look on your face.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“Vitya.” Yakov approached them, leaning heavily on his cane. “They’re ready for you.”

Victor frowned. “Already? I didn’t even get a chance to freshen up first.”

“If you’re going to, hurry,” Yakov said.

Victor tugged Yuuri along to the locker room, where he changed out of his skates and spent some time in front of the mirror setting his hair in place.

He gestured to his bag. “Get my hairspray, will you?”

Yuuri dug through and handed it to him. “Am I… going to be a part of this?”

“I won’t force you to, but you _did_ say you wanted to put on a show.”

Yuuri swallowed back momentary nerves, his resolve hardening. “I do.”

His hair set, Victor went to his bag and pulled out some face powder, applying it liberally to his forehead. Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. Victor’s shiny forehead had always been one of his charm points, at least to Yuuri and some of the other hardcore fans, but it was clear Victor was self-conscious about it.

“Hold still,” Victor said, and dusted a little powder on Yuuri’s cheeks. “There are going to be photos, and the lighting is never kind.”

“Do I… do I look okay?” Yuuri asked, glancing at himself in the mirror.

Victor stepped back and gave him a long, assessing look, his hand on his chin. In the end, he smiled. “You look absolutely radiant.” He took Yuuri’s hand. “Let’s go give them the opening act.”

A small crowd of reporters—probably not even a dozen—waited for them near the entrance of the rink. Someone had set up a small podium to make it seem more official, even though this was pretty far from a professional press conference. Victor hadn’t let go of Yuuri’s hand the entire way there, and as he took his place behind the podium, Yuuri laced their fingers together rather than pull away. Victor gave Yuuri a reassuring smile, and squeezed his fingers.

“I know you all have some questions,” Victor said, greeting the crowd with his usual charming smile. “I’ll be happy to answer all of them, but first, I’d like you to introduce you all to someone very special to me. I’m sure you’ve all seen the video—I can’t imagine you would be very good at your job if you hadn’t—” he paused as the crowd laughed lightly, “—but here we are in the flesh. This is Yuuri Katsuki, costume designer, and love of my life.”

Yuuri was suddenly blinded by several cameras taking their photo. Victor somehow kept his eyes open, clearly used to the strobing lights. Yuuri gave his best attempt to do the same, though he couldn’t help but wonder if his glasses might be giving his face a huge glare.

“He’s designed both of my costumes for this season, and I can’t wait to reveal them to you all tonight and tomorrow.”

A reporter in the front piped up. “Is the rumor that you’re not giving an exhibition skate true, then?”

Somehow, Yuuri hadn’t even thought about Victor’s exhibition skate until now. He looked to his lover with interest.

“As of right now, I regret to say I don’t have anything new to show. I have plans to perform an older program of mine for the GPF Gala, if I’m lucky enough to be invited, but for this competition, as well as the Rostelecom, I will not be skating an exhibition. For once, I’ll be enjoying myself in the audience.”

“What about for Nationals, or Worlds?”

Victor winked at the young woman who’d asked. “I’ll keep you posted.”

They asked Victor a handful of questions about the composition of his programs, his training, the rumors of an ankle injury Yuuri hadn’t heard about that turned out to be wholly untrue, and a few more questions about his retirement that he dodged with professional accuracy. For a conference that had been thrown together to discuss Victor’s relationship with Yuuri, the crowd seemed far more focused on Victor alone.

Yuuri smiled to himself. He needed to try and change that.

Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hand and leaned in close, prompting Victor to turn his ear towards Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri tilted his chin up and whispered: “Don’t make me jealous, giving all your attention to this crowd.”

A smile curled Victor’s lips as a camera flashed on them. “You know I belong to you.”

“Prove it,” Yuuri challenged breathily.

Victor’s cheeks flushed pink as his eyes widened briefly in surprise. He turned, searching for just a split second before parting his lips and pressing his mouth to Yuuri’s. He breathed in deeply as he held it, savored it, not making it lewd or passionate but still getting the point across.

Yuuri’s ears roared with rushing blood, knowing that so many people were watching them and only them. But his blood rose elsewhere, too, unexpectedly but not unpleasantly, and a sinister part of him wished he could escalate it, just a little. Just to see what he could get away with, how far they could go without ruining too much.

But Victor pulled away just before Yuuri’s common sense crumbled, his lips cherry red with the pressure. He grinned to the crowd. “Forgive me—he looks at me and I can’t help myself.”

The crowd in general seemed slightly stunned, but laughed through it as they tried to pry a few more answers out of Victor before he called an end to the conference.

“Well, we should probably get back to the hotel,” Victor said, pulling out his phone. “We’ve got a little over three hours before we need to be back here, and you mentioned wanting to recheck my costumes—”

“Wa—wait,” Yuuri said. “Before—before we go.”

Victor looked up, eyebrows raised. “Yes? What’s wrong?”

 _Now or never,_ Yuuri’s mind dared. He had no idea how true that was, but he did know an opportunity like this wouldn’t easily present itself again. “Come with me.” He picked up Victor’s hand, and tugged him down a hallway.

At first he had no idea what he was looking for, until he turned another hallway and saw the door to the single occupancy restroom. Relieved it was unlocked, he pulled Victor inside, and locked the door behind them.

It wasn’t as public as the beast inside him seemed to want, but it was as public as Yuuri’s common sense was willing to go.

“Yuuri, what—”

Yuuri put his hand over Victor’s mouth, pushing him against the door and leaning in close. “Keep quiet.” _Or don’t,_ his mind wanted him to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to go that far. He sank to his knees, and tugged down the elastic band of Victor’s pants.

“He-here? But Yuuri…” Victor didn’t finish his sentence, apparently unable to come up with a real protest.

Yuuri hadn’t yet gotten a chance to work closely with Victor’s flaccid dick, having always spent plenty of time in foreplay before getting to this part. It was already pulsing, filling as Yuuri watched, and he sucked the length into his mouth before the opportunity was lost. Victor groaned and leaned more heavily on the door just as Yuuri pressed his tongue into the swiftly hardening flesh.

“Oh god, Yuuri…” Victor squeezed his fists and groaned, his body shuddering as Yuuri worked.

Victor wasn’t trying to be quiet. Yuuri decided either he didn’t want to, or he was too blindsided by Yuuri’s actions to think clearly. Either way, the idea that anyone passing in the hallway might hear Victor Nikiforov’s moans sent a strange thrill down Yuuri’s spine. Anyone who recognized his voice would immediately know who was causing it. This new feeling made Yuuri hungry in a way he’d hadn’t quite felt before, and yet somehow seemed a little familiar.

Victor’s fingertips pressed hard into the door, each knuckle white with tension as his body succumbed to pleasure. Yuuri shifted his weight to adjust his balance, and grabbed one of Victor’s hands, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard. Victor’s hips bucked, and Yuuri used his other hand to hold him down, fingertips digging into the softness of his upper thigh, feeling the hard muscle underneath.

Victor’s skating fresh on his mind, Yuuri felt a surge of adrenaline at the idea of Victor’s body, so powerful and graceful and talented, yielding to him, submitting to him, begging for him.

Oh, Yuuri wanted more, so much more, but he couldn’t. Not now. He needed to save this energy, bottle it up and unleash it at a time when he didn’t need to hold back.

A time that couldn’t come soon enough.

Victor came with a strangled cry, arcing forward and putting his free hand on Yuuri’s shoulder for support. There was something intensely erotic about his labored breathing echoing off the walls of the little bathroom while he shot down Yuuri’s throat, and Yuuri wondered how he would take care of himself. His coat was long enough to hide his arousal, but he’d left it in the locker room, which was a few hallways away.

Victor used their linked hands to pull Yuuri to his feet, and forcefully turned him around, holding Yuuri’s back to his chest. His hand expertly found its way down Yuuri’s pants, pushing the waistband down far enough to release his achingly hard cock. Before Yuuri could process what was happening, Victor had him in a tight grip, and was pumping him vigorously in a rough, unsteady rhythm. Yuuri gave himself over to sensations, vocalizing without thinking, and his orgasm shot through him without warning, his cum spurting all over the tiled floor.

As his feverish arousal died down, Yuuri’s knees tried to give out, but Victor’s strong arms held him upright.

“What was that?” Victor asked, his lips brushing against Yuuri’s neck.

“I wanted—I needed—” Yuuri panted, completely breathless, “—you.”

“And you couldn’t wait until we got back?” Victor asked, his voice low. “Or perhaps… Was it the fact that we were here, with all these people around?”

“Yes,” Yuuri admitted, sinking back against his lover. “Do you think anyone heard?”

“I think it’s very possible,” Victor said. “We weren’t exactly silent in here. But I had no idea you wanted this.”

“I—” Yuuri swallowed back sudden nerves. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Victor said, his voice dripping with affection. He pressed a kiss into Yuuri’s neck. “We need to go back, though. Let’s talk about it later.”

Yuuri wiped up his mess with tissues before they snuck out of the bathroom, the hallway mercifully empty as they exited. During the car ride back, everything he’d done finally began to sink in, and a strange, overwhelming feeling settled in his stomach. What was wrong with him? Was it actually wrong? Or maybe it was… right?

Once back in the hotel, Victor showered while Yuuri gave his King costume one more thorough examination, making sure every stone was in place, every spare thread clipped, and every seam where it needed to be. Yuuri never allowed himself to do sloppy work, but he would accept nothing but perfection for Victor’s costumes, and thus spent more time than usual making sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

When the jacket and pants were finally deemed perfect, he turned his attention to the white gloves Victor had brought with him. They were an old pair, worn with one of Victor’s earlier costumes, but they’d been recently cleaned, and shone a brilliant white that matched remarkably well with the snowy white of the jacket. They’d been a solution to an oversight that both Yuuri and Victor had when creating Victor’s costumes—Victor, in recent years, greatly preferred to perform with gloves. Yuuri had made a pair of lacy black ones for the Queen costume, but Victor had insisted he didn’t need a new pair for the King costume, and he’d been right. Yuuri itched to cover them in stones to match the jacket, but there was no time for the glue to dry before the skate.

“Yuuri!” Victor called from the bathroom.

“What is it?” Yuuri asked, going to him. Victor had his hair clipped back and was applying moisturizer to his face, glaring into the space he’d wiped into the fogged-up mirror.

“I’m lonely, and I have a long way to go until I’m ready. Come talk to me.”

Yuuri laughed and leaned against the doorway. “Alright. What about?”

“Is my costume ready?”

“As perfect as I could make it,” Yuuri said.

“Good.” Victor washed his hands and zipped open a black bag Yuuri had been curious about since they’d arrived. He pulled out a little bottle of liquid that matched his skintone, and shook it vigorously. “I can ask you about something different, then.”

Yuuri watched with interest as Victor used a small sponge to apply the liquid to his face. “What’s that?”

“Do you get off to exhibitionism?”

Yuuri choked on his own saliva, sending him into a brief coughing fit. He cleared his throat. “ _What?”_

“It’s okay if you do—I just want to know. Or… perhaps you didn’t know, and that’s why you haven’t told me yet?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yuuri said honestly.

“What we just did,” Victor said. “Sex in a public place with the chance of being caught or overheard.”

“There’s a _word_ for that?”

Victor laughed. “Of course there’s a word for it. There’s a word for every kink. How else would people search for it on the internet?”

Yuuri flushed. “I didn’t think… I mean—I’m really naïve when it comes to this sort of thing. I didn’t think it was… exhibitionism.”

“But it’s what you like, isn’t it? Thinking about people watching you?”

“This is all really new to me,” Yuuri said. “Today was just—I was watching you skate, and it opened up all these emotions I didn’t know how to express. Then we were holding hands in front of that crowd, and you kissed me, and I _felt_ them watching us, and it—it sort of drove me insane. From there I wasn’t really thinking, I just knew… knew I wanted you, as soon as I could have you.”

Victor smiled at him through his reflection. “The more time I spend with you, the more you surprise me.”

“I surprise myself, to be honest,” Yuuri said. “I feel things around you that I’ve never felt before, and it makes me wonder if—if I ever really knew myself, before I met you. I’m not entirely sure I did.”

“It’s not unusual to unearth parts of yourself because of those you spend time with,” Victor said. He’d switched his task over to something that required a little brush, dabbing liquid under his eyes and nose. “Look at me and Chris—would I have known about insults driving me crazy if I had never listened to him rant at me? And what if he’d declined to give me gratification, or told me my desires were distasteful? The mark of a good relationship is discovering more about the person you love, and helping them grow into a better, more honest version of themselves. So I just want to know—do you enjoy the idea of being watched?”

Yuuri looked down at the marble tiles, rubbing his arm thoughtfully. “When I first modeled for Phichit, I thought I hated it. It felt… strange, like I was wearing someone else’s skin, or someone else’s face. I would look at the photos he took and I could never believe they were me. But when I did it again, I noticed that I didn’t really hate it at all… I just liked it in a way that was foreign to me, and my immediate response was to reject it. It wasn’t a coincidence that he and I often fooled around after our sessions. It was thrilling for me to be in front of the camera. But it felt so at odds with how I feel normally. I don’t like being in crowds, or working with people closely that I don’t know. But I think if there’s a disconnect—if I don’t have to interact with someone directly, only through a camera—then I just…”

“Get all hot and bothered by it?”

“A little,” Yuuri admitted. “Is it… strange?”

“No stranger than my desires,” Victor said. “Probably even less so, if we’re going just by how common they seem to be. I certainly have no problem with it, if that wasn’t obvious. You should know that Chris shares a similar kink, though sometimes I wonder if there’s anything he _isn’t_ into.”

“Did you—have you two done anything in public, then?” Yuuri wanted to know.

Victor let out a brief, almost embarrassed laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Nothing _too_ public, but sometimes we would fool around in places where there was a very real danger of being caught. Before we discovered my own kink, it was common for us to exchange blowjobs in a stall of the locker rooms whenever we met at competitions.”

“And _were_ you ever caught?”

“If we were, no one said anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if plenty knew and just kept it to themselves,” Victor said. “Not to bare my ego, but among skaters, I was fairly untouchable back then.”

“No one wanted to get on your bad side,” Yuuri reasoned.

Victor began applying something that made the space above his eyes brighter, a subtle highlight that Yuuri recognized from his own experience at Phichit’s artistic hand. “I just want to make sure you understand that I’m willing to indulge you,” he said.

“I… I don’t know if I’ll do anything like that anytime soon,” Yuuri admitted. “I just keep thinking about what would’ve happened if we got caught, even in a locked bathroom. It’s terrifying. In the moment I loved it, but I’m afraid my anxiety will keep me from enjoying it going forward.”

“Hmm… Perhaps we could work around that, then.”

“What do you mean?”

Victor put down his brush and turned to Yuuri. “There are other ways of being an exhibitionist that don’t require you to be in public. All you need is an audience, or even a potential one. Sometimes the mere suggestion that others could be watching is a turn-on. For example, say I opened the window to our hotel room. Do you think anyone can see us?”

Yuuri looked out across the room, towards the window. The curtains were drawn, but all he could see were buildings in the distance. “Maybe? If they were looking for us.”

“Likely they won’t, but if I suggested it to you in the heat of the moment, would it affect you? Would that part of you that craves attention believe it?”

Victor’s voice was so suggestive Yuuri couldn’t help but feel a curl of arousal in his belly. “It might work.”

“If not, there are other things we can try,” Victor said with a wink. He picked up his brush again and returned to blending his makeup.

This conversation was turning Yuuri into a flustered mess. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t you be focusing on your competition?”

“I like a good distraction beforehand,” Victor said. “I have plenty of time to think about my performance. Besides—this is important.”

Yuuri laughed nervously. “Is it really? I’m not so sure…”

“Of course it is!” Victor insisted. “You’re important, and your desires are important. I want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“I’m plenty taken care of,” Yuuri said, and went to stand behind Victor, wrapping his arms around his middle. He rested his head in the wide expanse between his shoulders. “You’re the best partner I could ever hope for. From the moment we met, our desires aligned almost perfectly, and now I’m discovering new things I’ve never felt before.”

“Yuuri…”

“I don’t doubt that you’ll do your best to take care of me, but I don’t know what more I could want from you.” Yuuri snuggled closer, aligning his body with Victor’s. “What I do know is that we have a long time to figure it out, and I’m not comfortable with so much focus on me when tonight is supposed to be for you.”

Yuuri could hear the warm laugh through Victor’s chest—a low sound that wrapped Yuuri in comfort. “Alright. We can talk about it more some other time. But I still want to talk to you. Tell me what you’re looking forward to the most tonight.”

Yuuri let his fanboy show a little more than usual just then, gushing about how excited he was for Victor’s short program. He’d been listening to the song as part of his “Victor” playlist for months now, and despite not knowing any French, had most of the lyrics memorized, including the translations.

“But what might really kill me is your Free Skate tomorrow,” Yuuri admitted. “I don’t think I can hold my breath for that long without passing out.”

“So don’t hold it,” Victor said with a laugh. He’d finished his makeup and was working on getting his hair in place.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Yuuri said. “I physically _can’t_ breathe while you’re skating. My body forgets to. If I look away for a second, I can manage, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to look away from your performance when I’m so close to the ice.”

Victor’s eyes widened in alarm. “Will you be okay? Do I need to have Yakov stand near you to make sure you don’t pass out?”

“I’ll probably be okay,” Yuuri said. “I hope. But your skating is so beautiful I lose myself. You’re like a god on the ice.”

Victor frowned, pressing his lips together in a way that made Yuuri think he might be uncomfortable with Yuuri’s intensity.

“Don’t get me wrong—when we’re together like this, I can see you as the regular, delightful person you are,” Yuuri said. “But when you’re performing, or even just practicing, I can’t forget the way I felt when I was watching you as a boy. It’s like a magic spell.”

Victor looked down with a small smile. “I hope things don’t get too intense for you.”

“I will absolutely die if you fall.”

Victor barked out a laugh. “No pressure, right?”

“Absolutely none,” Yuuri said, laughing too. “But honestly, I’ll be alright. I don’t know how I’ll react, but I’ll keep it together because I know the last thing you need out there is to worry about me. Just skate the way you always do, and don’t think about me.”

“That’s impossible,” Victor said. “How could I not think about you when you’re woven into every step of my programs?”

Yuuri felt a sudden sting of tears in his eyes, and he had to turn away before Victor noticed them. “O-oh. I didn’t…”

Victor wrapped his warm arms around Yuuri, hugging him from behind. “I needed something to pull me through this final season of my career, something inspiring, and no matter what I tried to do, I always fell back to you. Perhaps a part of me will be skating for myself, to celebrate my career, but I’ll be thinking about you, and those beautiful eyes of yours watching me.”

Yuuri sniffed. “Victor…”

“No time for crying now,” Victor said. “I need you to dress me.”

Yuuri would never call himself religious, but having the opportunity to dress up his idol in a costume of his own making could only be described as a religious experience. Yuuri fussed over every inch, tugging at the seams and running his fingers over the crystal pattern to ensure nothing would easily come loose. He smoothed over Victor’s broad shoulders with his palms, and double-checked every hook and button. He draped the glittering sash over one shoulder, buttoned it in place, and fastened it with a silver rose brooch at his hip. Victor held still for him, his posture firm and perfect, and Yuuri had to rein in his emotions to ensure that he was able to complete his work.

“I don’t think there’s anything else I can do,” Yuuri said, standing back to get a complete look. In the brilliant, shining white of his costume, Victor was truly a king, the only missing thing a crown on his silvery head.

“I’ve never been fussed over so thoroughly,” Victor said with a laugh. “I don’t know if I’ve told you how much I love your work. I must’ve had a thousand ideas for costumes I’d love to commission you for in the future.”

“I’d love to hear them someday,” Yuuri said, afraid he might burst with emotion. “But we should get to the rink soon.”

* * *

 

Yuuri had no idea how he survived warmups, and he had no idea how he would survive the next half hour. Victor was set to perform at the end of the first group, and while Yuuri tried his best to focus on the other skaters, his mind kept drifting back into that strange fog as he waited for Victor to return. He’d gone to the practice room for some last minute refining, and Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to follow.

But music drifted in and out of his ears, and he could only seem to pay attention when the crowd reacted to something. He hugged the back wall, making himself inconspicuous as people walked around preparing their skaters for their upcoming performances, and prayed he could keep himself under control. It was a very real possibility he might cry or faint or scream as soon as Victor began skating, and the anxiety and anticipation was making Yuuri’s body shiver with nerves.

With two skaters left to perform, Victor emerged from somewhere, took a long look at Yuuri, and held his hand beside him, saying nothing.

Some cameras came by, but Victor shook his head at them and waved them away. Yuuri was grateful. He didn’t want cameras when he felt so unstable.

When there was only one skater left before Victor, he turned to Yuuri, leaning in close and speaking quietly. “Before this moment, I have never skated for anyone but myself. This may be my last competitive season, but it’s the first time I’m skating for a person I love.” He pulled up Yuuri’s hand and clutched it in both of his own. “But I’m not as good as I used to be. I’m not as brave, and I’m not as ambitious. I’m going to do my best, but I may fall, and I want absolutely no part of you to blame yourself for my mistakes. Understand?”

Yuuri swallowed, and nodded.

Victor leaned in and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. “Just listen to the music and watch me. Hear what my body is saying while it wears this costume you made for me. Whatever happens, I promise you won’t be disappointed.” He gave one last smile, and went over to Yakov, who waited for him at the barrier.

Yuuri stood back while they had a quiet moment, watching the previous skater give his bows to the audience and get off the ice. Yuuri couldn’t say for sure, but his face looked disappointed as he passed by to hug his coach.

Victor removed his guards and slid onto the ice as he continued talking to Yakov, speaking in low Russian. His face had completely changed—with Yuuri he had been soft and affectionate, but now he was all business, speaking to his coach with steely eyes and a firm mouth. There was confidence there, a certain air of comfortability that could only come from years of experience. But around the edges Yuuri could see hints of nerves—the way his chest rose and fell, the way his eyes darted, the way he shook out his hand—very subtle things that Yuuri wasn’t sure he’d have noticed had he not been so close to Victor.

The scores for the last skater were announced—completely ignored by Yuuri—and the announcer called Victor’s name. The crowd roared in a way Yuuri hadn’t yet heard for any previous skater, and Victor gave a brilliant white smile as he took laps around the ice, shaking out his arms and loosening his body.

“It’s happening,” Yuuri whispered to himself, drifting closer to the ice. Yakov stood nearby, leaning heavily on the barrier, but made no acknowledgement of Yuuri.

Victor took center ice, and the crowd went eerily silent. Yuuri took a deep breath, and managed to release it just as Solène’s voice crooned the opening lines of her song. Victor slid into his dance, moving like water along the smooth syllables, every tiny movement done with precision.

Victor really was a world apart from the rest of the skaters Yuuri had seen so far. Such young skaters couldn’t move like Victor did—they lacked his presence, his awareness of the music, his poise. His years of experience in front of an audience. Victor might have been known for his high-scoring jumps, but no one could deny that he earned every component score he received, too.

Yuuri felt the music in his bones, the melody so familiar yet with Victor’s skating it was almost like hearing it for the first time. As the verse ramped up into the chorus, Victor came alive with a burst of energy, landing his first jump pass with a deafening cheer. He immediately threw himself into a graceful spin, and Yuuri again had to tell himself to breathe.

There was something joyful about the way Victor skated, yet Yuuri felt a hint of sadness along the edges, a bittersweet note of finality in his movements. Yuuri knew just how personal this song was to Victor—the lyrics painted a picture of the freedom and loneliness of breaking free from the crowd, how respect and distance often go hand in hand, and how difficult it can be to tell a person’s true nature when they have something to gain just by knowing you. It conveyed emotions that Victor rarely allowed himself to express, even to those closest to him, and Yuuri felt every one of them through his skating.

Victor landed his remaining jumps, including his signature quad flip, and the crowd roared wildly with each one. The final step sequence truly showed just how far apart Victor stood from his peers when it came to grace and finesse, and there was a breathless silence as he took his final pose to the last chime of the music. Yuuri ached with how beautiful it all was, and he felt an awful lump of disappointment when it was all over.

Victor spent a long time greeting the crowd, his fans screaming and tossing flowers onto the ice. Yuuri knew on paper just how famous and popular Victor was, but it was one thing to witness a crowd of followers on the internet, and another entirely to experience them in person. It was a good thing Victor was the last of his group, as it might’ve been awful for the following skater to have to wait, helpless to do anything but watch the fanfare.

Yuuri absurdly wished he had something to throw.

Eventually Victor made his way off the ice, picking up a small dog plush on the way. Once his guards were on, he gravitated towards Yuuri, pulling him into a sudden, hot embrace, his body radiating heat.

“You’re crying,” Victor said, pulling back to look at him. His gloved thumbs wiped at Yuuri’s cheeks. “Don’t cry.”

“I—I didn’t notice,” Yuuri said, surprised to feel the wetness there. “That was so beautiful, Victor. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to top myself tomorrow,” Victor said teasingly. He gave Yakov a brief, affectionate hug, whispering something to him in Russian, then put an arm around Yuuri to steer him off to the kiss and cry.

Yuuri could almost physically _feel_ the happiness pouring out of Victor, his smile brilliant as he waved to the camera planted in front of the bench. He brought his little brown dog plush to his face and wiggled the ears around, making barking sounds while Yakov frowned and grumbled. Yuuri, as dazed as he was, couldn’t help but laugh.

The scores came in, and Victor was first in his group, to no one’s surprise. It was a difficult program—not record-breaking by any means, but skated cleanly and at such a high level of skill to please the judges at every component. Victor looked at Yuuri expectantly, so Yuuri gave him a celebratory kiss for the camera, one that made his heart race and his blood sing.

After that it was a flurry of movement and talking, Victor ushering Yuuri around while answering questions thrown at him, and eventually they ended up in the stands to watch the second group. Victor normally didn’t stay, he’d told Yuuri, but he always made an exception to watch Chris when he could.

Chris was also scheduled towards the end of his group. He had his own screaming fans that cried out when he took the ice, though they weren’t as loud as Victor’s had been. Perhaps if he were skating somewhere in Europe, rather than Canada, he’d have a comparable crowd.

Chris’s skate stood out from the rest of his group the same way Victor’s had, with his experience clearly showing through his expertly executed movements. He’d chosen a jazzy musical number and wore a black and red bodysuit adorned with fishnets stretched over “transparent” vines traveling along the arms and legs. The whole thing sparkled with red gems, and his eyes were outlined in thick black eyeliner to create a truly dramatic look.

“Do you know who designs his costumes?” Yuuri asked Victor quietly.

“He has a couple of local places he switches between, but he’s also been known to go out of his way to work with designers abroad if he wants something specific,” Victor said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Yuuri said. “I don’t recognize the work. It’s good, though. Unique.”

“Have you followed Chris’s career at all?”

Yuuri looked aside, embarrassed. “Honestly, I didn’t follow anyone but you. I _noticed_ Chris, when I was your biggest fan and you two seemed close, but when it came to the sport, I didn’t have much interest in other skaters. Phichit was always the more general fan.”

“Well, you should know that Chris always has a distinct look he tries to achieve each season,” Victor explained. “Something that goes against the trends. The judges don’t always look kindly on his more… extravagant approaches, but lately he cares more about making a statement than reaching the podium.”

“And he sure does make a statement,” Yuuri said just as Chris wiggled his ass in front of the judges.

“They can’t ignore him,” Victor said. “He’s perfected his style, and it’s hard to penalize him for things that clearly fit his program.”

“You think he’ll score higher than you?”

Victor’s smile grew wide. “We’ll see.”

Chris’s score, as it turned out, was just shy of Victor’s, the both of them taking a significant lead over the other skaters. Only one other came close—a younger skater from Latvia, whose coach was apparently an old friend of Victor’s.

An old lover, Yuuri guessed, based on Victor’s reluctance to exchange more than smiles with him. But Yuuri decided that was a story for another time.

Despite his friendliness to other skaters, Victor didn’t socialize very much, Yuuri noticed. He turned down casual invitations to dinner as if it were the natural response to do so, and didn’t try to seek anyone out to talk to. People always came to him—never the other way around.

Back in the hotel, Yuuri couldn’t help but bring it up.

“I used to socialize more when I was younger,” Victor said over a mouthful of chicken. They’d ordered room service so Victor could give specific instructions on what to make. “But it’s draining for me. I used to think it made me happy—and maybe it did, to an extent—but as I grew older, being surrounded by people came to be too exhausting. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy being with people I know, people I’m close to, but at competitions, even small dinners out never stay that way.”

Yuuri smiled. “You don’t have to explain so much—I understand better than most people how draining it can be to socialize. I just expected differently from you. You’re so good with people, I thought you enjoyed being around them.”

“If I’m honest, I think I’m really just too old for this crowd of starry-eyed skaters,” Victor said, laughing. “I suppose it was around the time that I started to notice people looking up to me that I stopped socializing so much. I can’t be ‘on’ all the time, you know? Sometimes I just want to swear loudly or belch or drink myself onto the floor, and I can’t do that with so many eyes on me.”

Yuuri snorted. “I’ve never seen you do _any_ of that.”

Victor’s eyes crinkled with affection. “Oh Yuuri, you have no idea what you’ve gotten into.”

Yuuri didn’t know whether to be scared, aroused, or confused, but somehow felt all three at once. “You must’ve hid it well over the years, then, if even _I_ didn’t catch wind of it.”

“Hidden it well, or chose to socialize with people who kept my privacy,” Victor said. “I was never allowed many opportunities to act on my impulses, so when the moments _did_ arise… Well, ask Chris sometime.”

“You can’t tell me yourself?”

Victor half-hid a smile behind his glass of water. “I don’t trust myself to tell the whole truth. Either ask him, or see for yourself someday.”

Yuuri rested his chin in his palm. “I think I’d rather let you surprise me again.”

After they ate, they bundled up and went for a walk in the cold, greeting skaters and skating fans as they passed, and eventually stopping at a café halfway through to warm up. Yuuri still found it difficult to feel normal around Victor. Even as they spoke of small things like the city layout or the people they saw, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel like this all wasn’t real. Somehow he was still dreaming, caught up in an elaborate fantasy his mind fabricated from years of pent-up desires, and any moment now he would wake up and find it all disappearing into faded memories.

The mood followed him all the way to bed, until Victor removed his shirt and slid underneath the covers next to Yuuri. He turned off the lamp, and the room turned nearly pitch dark, just a tiny fragment of moonlight glowing through the small break in the curtains. In that darkness he couldn’t _see_ Victor, but was still very aware of his presence. Yuuri could feel his body heat, hear his quiet breathing, and even smell the remnants of soap from his earlier shower. Memories flooded his mind, from Victor’s heart-wrenching story of his mother, all the way back to the moment they’d first met, when Yuuri took one look at Victor’s smile and slammed the door in his face out of anger and fear.

Yuuri hadn’t _imagined_ any of it. The emotions were too deeply etched in his heart for it to be a dream. He’d felt too much pain and longing, too much happiness, too much of that deep, thrumming warmth for it to have not been real. Victor Nikiforov was real.

But why did it still feel like a dream?

“Yuuuuuri,” Victor groaned tiredly. A hand groped at Yuuri’s chest, grasping for something, though Yuuri didn’t know what.

“I’m right here.”

“I don’t want to be without you,” Victor said. It was quieter than his groaning—not quite a whisper, but as if he were reluctant to say it.

“What are you talking about?” Yuuri asked. “I’m with you.”

“Come back to me,” he pleaded. “After. Come to the NHK Trophy with me, and the Grand Prix.”

“I… can’t,” Yuuri said reluctantly. “I need to work.”

“Oh.” Victor sounded so disappointed that Yuuri could almost hear his heart breaking.

“Unless…” Yuuri’s mind scrambled to come up with a solution. There had to be _something_ he could do, something to erase that awful tone in Victor’s voice. “If I could get my work done and move around my schedule a little, I might be able to get away for a few more days. It’ll be tight, but maybe… maybe it’s possible.”

Victor was quiet for a moment, his palm resting against the center of Yuuri’s chest. “I wouldn’t ask if this weren’t my last season. I want you here with me, for everything. I want to know you’re watching me. I want to see you. I want your hands to be the last thing I feel before I get on the ice, and the first thing I feel when I get off. I know it’s a bother to you, but—”

“It’s not a bother,” Yuuri said, covering Victor’s hand with his own. “If it’s what you want—if it’s really that important to you—I’ll do what I can to make more trips. The reason I hesitate is because it feels too indulgent to me, neglecting my work to watch you skate. But if you need me to…”

“I need you to.”

“Then it’s not so indulgent,” Yuuri said, breathing out a laugh. “I don’t really know why you need me, though.”

Victor laughed, too, though his held a hint of nervousness and desperation. “Really? I don’t know how much more obvious I can be without tying a collar around my neck and giving you the lead. I’m happiest when I’m with you. I feel _right_ when I’m with you. I can’t explain just how deeply that feeling goes, but surely… surely, you feel something similar?”

His voice wavered at the end, as if he were suddenly doubting his words. Yuuri squeezed his hand in reassurance. “I do. I just… I didn’t think it was… entirely mutual.”

Victor slid closer, planting a kiss onto Yuuri’s neck. “Have I not been good enough to you?”

“No, no, it’s not—not that,” Yuuri said. It was hard to think with Victor’s strong nose nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath his jaw. “It’s not a feeling that’s easy to see, I guess. It goes deeper than anything you can show on the surface. It’s not something you can know in another person without spending a lot of time with them, or—or asking them, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Yuuri could feel the vibration of Victor’s lips. “Well I hope you understand now. I need you, Yuuri. This isn’t a love on the surface. My whole self needs you.”

In that moment, something inside Yuuri stirred and awoke, stretching its limbs and pushing away that dreamy fog he’d been fighting the whole trip. His feelings took on a certain clarity, a sharpness he hadn’t experienced since Victor had left him before, and everything he felt for Victor washed over him at once. That longing he’d tried to bury under work, the bright, sunny affection, that dark, primal _need_ in his body—all of it hit him in wave after wave, as if the gates had been opened and every emotion threatened to drown him. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, praying it would calm down before it overwhelmed him.

“Are you okay?” Victor asked, still nuzzling him. “Your cheek is wet.”

Without warning, Yuuri burst into sobs, shifting over to cling to Victor and bury his head in his warm, solid shoulder. With no shirt to absorb them, Yuuri felt every tear as they fell from his eyes and smeared across Victor’s skin. He felt gross and unstable, but he couldn’t stop, the sobs painfully shaking his entire body and tearing through his throat.

Victor slowly, gently wrapped an arm around him, fingertips lightly brushing his spine. “You’re okay, Yuuri. Everything’s okay.”

Everything _was_ okay, but Yuuri couldn’t stop the tears. How had he come to be such an emotional wreck? Why was it always everything or nothing?

Pathetically, he cried himself to sleep, vaguely aware of Victor holding him well into the night. His next moment of awareness was of early morning, a beam of pale pink sunlight barely illuminating the room. Victor was facing away from Yuuri, curled onto his side with the steady breathing of deep sleep. Yuuri sat up, careful not to wake him.

For the first time since he’d arrived, he felt truly awake. His back ached from the unfamiliar bed, and he had a slight headache from dehydration, but no part of him wanted to go back to sleep. No part of him felt like he was still dreaming. His phone told him it was half past 5, a full hour before Victor’s alarm would go off, and he unlocked his phone to give himself something to think about. He read through the handful of text messages Phichit had sent the night before, well wishes for him and Victor and a photo of him with Leo at their watching party.

Yuuri smiled and scrolled up, finding the link to the video of him and Victor at the airport. His phone was silent, but he didn’t really need the crowd noise to relive the experience. Yuuri had no idea what he’d been feeling in that moment—he didn’t remember making the decision to kiss Victor, didn’t remember anything at all except that desperate _need_ inside him, the one thing he’d been able to feel. Now, with a clearer mind, Yuuri wished he’d been a little more elegant about the whole thing. If he’d known it was going to be seen by tens of thousands of people, he’d have put in a little more effort. Maybe swept Victor off his feet, or leapt into his arms.

Yuuri worried his lip, thinking about last night. He didn’t know what exactly it was that had Victor said that finally broke through to him, but it _had_ broken through, and somehow he knew the fog wasn’t returning anytime soon.  And with that newfound clarity, Yuuri realized that the fog was devastatingly familiar. It was that same fog that had clung to him intermittently throughout his entire adult life, even before the mishap with Victor’s costume. It dampened his emotions, dulling them to almost nothing, acting as a sort of protective barrier from the pain his mind could inflict on himself. But why had it come back when he saw Victor again?

Perhaps it hadn’t come back just then. Perhaps it had crept in slowly during their time apart, helping Yuuri to bear the longing of being apart, keeping him afloat enough to work without falling into despair. It wouldn’t have been the first time Yuuri subconsciously cut off his emotions.

Yuuri wished he could talk to Victor about it, but it was hardly a good enough reason to interrupt an athlete’s sleep on a competition day. That, and Yuuri wasn’t quite sure he’d know how to explain it, and he didn’t know what he even needed from Victor.

Yuuri put down his phone and looked at his sleeping lover, suddenly realizing how rare of an opportunity this was. Every full night they’d slept together—which wasn’t all that many, when Yuuri really thought about it—Victor had woken up first. They were both creatures of habit, but Yuuri’s habits tended to land just a little later on the clock than Victor’s, and thus, Yuuri had never gotten to see Victor asleep before. He reached over to the bedside table to retrieve his glasses.

Victor didn’t look like an angel asleep. If anything, he looked far more human, his usual charismatic air dampened severely by the drool stain on the corner of his mouth. His hair was comically disarrayed, creased and sticking out at all angles, falling off to the side of his face to put his large forehead on display. Yuuri wondered how many people ever got to see this particular Victor, this creature of the earth before he put on the mantle that turned him divine. After hesitating for just a moment, Yuuri snapped a picture.

The movement made Victor stir, but he simply curled onto his other side, towards Yuuri, and fell immediately back to sleep. Yuuri smiled and turned back to his phone, looking at the photo he’d taken. It would be his secret treasure, his reminder that Victor was just a man, like him, who’d fallen in love. A part of Yuuri had still be treating their relationship like some sort of fantasy, just a temporary dream that Yuuri would have to wake up from someday, but as he stared at the photo, and looked over at Victor, what remained of that part of him dissolved away. This wasn’t temporary. After all this time spent doubting himself too much to believe it, he finally understood that Victor had fallen just as hard for him as he had for Victor.

It was a little terrifying to think about, but comforting at the same time. Victor was his partner, much in the same way that Phichit was—only instead of building costumes together, they would be building a life. Yuuri didn’t make it a habit to think too far into the future, at least not beyond the comfortably predictable, but at that quiet moment just before dawn, he found himself unable to stop. He imagined sleeping with Victor in a bed like this one, every night, for the rest of their lives. Seeing Victor every day. Going on vacations together. Suddenly Yuuri’s whole life, which before then had been dictated almost entirely by his work, opened up before him like a flower.

Of course he would still work—he wanted to make costumes until he was old and wrinkled, with Phichit at his side as long as he could keep him. But knowing that Victor would be there to take him away from it sometimes, that he would be there to occupy the space that work didn’t take up, made Yuuri suddenly, inordinately happy.

Yuuri laid back down, but didn’t try to sleep—everything about him was too awake now, his mind too restless to turn off. He tried to imagine this future, this hypothetical life with Victor:  a house in the suburbs, with a nice big yard for dogs to run around in, with a big tree for shade. Maybe near a park, so they could walk the dogs there together on weekends. Not too far from the warehouse, but a long enough commute to give Yuuri time to disconnect from his work. Perhaps near a skating rink, so Victor could skate whenever he wanted. A plush chair in front of a window for Victor to read in. A kitchen to make dinners in. A big couch to curl up in.

Everywhere Yuuri looked in his mind, he found new details he wanted to have. Lamps, a big bath, a breakfast table, bookshelves, a glass cabinet for awards, fresh flowers… Tiny, inconsequential things that he knew he would forget about later, but things he took pleasure in all the same. It wasn’t until he’d exhausted that train of thought that he realized all the things he imagined were largely about Victor. Everything he’d thought about had been for Victor’s sake, something to make Victor happy. It was oddly selfless, coming from him. Didn’t Yuuri dream of anything for himself?

Yuuri turned onto his side, and his eyes fell upon the answer immediately. A relaxed, happy Victor. That was all his heart needed.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note: there's a Yuuri/Victor/Chris scene here that I previously did not tag for.

The first half of the final day of the competition went by in a flash, at least from Yuuri’s perspective. Once they were both out of bed, he spent his morning going over Victor’s Queen costume with a fine-toothed comb, double checking every seam and every feather. The gloves he’d made seemed to be holding up well enough, though he worried the elasticity of the lace would cause some of the crystals to fall off. To be sure, he pulled the gloves on and off his own hands a few times, and with no casualties, deemed them ready for wear.

Chris joined them for a light lunch after warm-ups, and from there Victor spent all his time getting ready. Yuuri did his best to keep him company, but at times he was too captivated by Victor’s transformation to keep up with any conversation. Even though he’d seen it happen, Yuuri still couldn’t quite understand how Victor had gone from his handsome, masculine self to something so decidedly fierce and feminine that Yuuri almost didn’t recognize him. Victor gelled his hair out of his eyes, and dusted glitter on top, matching the shimmering glitter of his eye shadow.

He truly looked like a queen, and he hadn’t even put on the jacket yet.

Yuuri’s job was again to dress him, and he took as much time as he dared to perform that job. Yuuri wanted to savor every moment he could of this ritual, this moment of deep reverence for the powerful man who had captured his heart so long ago. He was a willing, eager servant to his idol, and after he carefully slid on the second glove, he stood back, his eyes welling over with tears.

“Is everything okay?” Victor asked.

Yuuri shook his head. “You’re the most beautiful person in the world to me.” He took Victor’s lace-covered hand, clutching it in his own trembling hands. “Whatever happens tonight, know that I’m happier than I’ve ever been, just being here to do this with you. I know I’ve been kind of out of it the past two days, but I—”

“What do you mean?”

Yuuri looked down. He’d both wanted and not wanted to have this conversation since this morning, eventually deciding to put it off until after the competition. But now, once he’d started talking, he couldn’t stop himself. “I haven’t been entirely myself. It wasn’t until last night that I realized what was wrong with me.”

“Wrong?” Victor brought up his other hand to put it around Yuuri’s. “What’s wrong? Is this why you cried last night?”

“I wasn’t… I think some part of me was trying to protect myself from getting overwhelmed. Being with you is still this crazy experience to me, and sometimes when I was with you, I felt like… I felt like I wasn’t entirely there. I didn’t know how to explain it, and I’m not even sure I noticed what it was until last night, otherwise I might’ve said something.”

Victor frowned. “But you’re… You’re okay now?”

Yuuri nodded, ignoring the teardrops that fell down his cheeks. “I’m here. One-hundred-percent. And it’s hitting me all over again just how much I love you, so I’m sorry if I turn into a mess, but I’m just so… so happy.” A sob escaped him, and more tears broke free. He swallowed. “I don’t trust myself to not get overwhelmed, but if it’s between that and not fully experiencing this moment with you, then—then I’d rather be overwhelmed. I’d rather feel so crazy in love with you that I burst open with it rather than spend another moment not feeling all of it.”

The next thing Yuuri knew, he was enveloped in a sea of black feathers, Victor’s hand pressing into his hair as they embraced. “I love you too, Yuuri. So much that it consumes me to a terrifying degree.” He pulled away, his cheeks wet with tears. “I know how it feels to be overwhelmed with it, and while it’s inconvenient, I hope it never, ever stops.”

Yuuri choked out a laugh. “We’re terrible messes, aren’t we?”

Victor’s own laugh was watery. “We ruin ourselves.”

Yuuri wiped at his eyes to clear them. “Speaking of ruining, your makeup—”

“I’ll fix it at the rink,” Victor said, and pulled Yuuri back into him. “I just—need to hold you again. Just for a little while.”

Yuuri’s emotions settled into something warm and steady as he wrapped his arms around his lover. “As long as you need, but I won’t forgive you if you run late because of this.”

“We won’t,” Victor said quietly.

They were a _little_ late, but that was mostly due to the traffic around the rink. Victor had to rush to fix his makeup before warm-ups, but when he finally appeared on the sidelines, Yuuri thought nothing about him looked rushed. People stopped and stared as he walked past, standing tall on his guarded skates, his body falling into its natural confidence with the air of a monarch. In this space, Victor truly was a queen, and even as he smiled at Yuuri with cheerful affection, Yuuri felt like falling to his knees.

“Only you could get away with looking like that,” Yakov grumbled.

Victor smiled cheekily. “Glad you like it, Yakov.”

As Victor got onto the ice for warmups, Yuuri watched carefully how the costume moved. He’d been intermittently second-guessing the design since he’d made it, wondering if the coattails were too heavy and at risk of getting in the way of Victor’s legs. But as Victor moved they floated behind him, the layers of delicate black fabric and white lining shimmering beautifully below the form-fitting torso. The feathers of the collar, which Yuuri had also fussed endlessly over, remained largely in place with only the free-floating ends showing signs of movement, none of them in danger of touching Victor’s neck.

For just a moment, Yuuri let himself feel incredibly proud of his work. The King jacket was fine—he’d done probably half a dozen different iterations on the military-style jacket before—but the Queen was something wholly unique. No one aside from Victor would have approved such a design, and Yuuri wouldn’t have made it for anyone else. Few but Victor could have worn it with such confidence.

Victor spun, and the effect was better than Yuuri could have imagined. The coattails twirled with him elegantly, like fluttering wings at his back, and Yuuri had never loved his work more in his life. Everything he’d done up to this point, all his study, all his late nights, everything that brought him here had been worth it. If he suddenly had to retire, he could live with the fact that he’d at least done this.

All too quickly warmups ended, and Victor had to leave the ice. Again he was to skate last of his group, and it would be a long wait until it was his turn. Yuuri had planned to find a place in the stands to sit and watch the other skaters, maybe even pay attention this time, but Victor pulled him aside as soon as he got off the ice.

“Come with me, just for a moment?”

Yuuri looked up at him. Victor was so much taller on his skates. “Of course.”

Victor led him down a hallway, then turned into another one, ending up at the same single-occupancy bathroom they’d used yesterday. Yuuri’s heart pounded—what exactly did Victor want? It was too close to his skate to fool around now.

But inside, with the door locked, Victor didn’t look to be in the mood for anything sexual. If anything, he looked nervous, his shoulders slumped and his lips in a tight frown. Victor turned and stood in front of the mirror, hands clutching the sink as he leaned forward.

“Is… everything okay?” Yuuri asked.

“Everything’s fine,” Victor said in a voice so flat it barely echoed off the walls. Yuuri had to fight his instinct to recoil from it. He sounded so lifeless.

“Do you… need anything from me?”

“Not really,” Victor said, his voice still that same tone. “Just don’t leave, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Victor stared at himself in the mirror for several long minutes, and Yuuri simply stood there, trying not to move or make any noise. Every time he glanced over at Victor, it became clearer that he wasn’t examining his makeup or hair, or anything superficial like that—whatever he was looking at, it was somewhere beyond his reflection. His eyes had taken on an intense sheen, and Yuuri wished he knew what was going through Victor’s head.

As if hearing his wish, Victor began to speak.

“I have a moment of quiet isolation before every performance.” His voice had regained some of its color, but it remained quieter than usual, as if he were still a little too deep inside his head. “A few minutes is usually all I can spare, and I often wave it off as a bathroom break or a costume adjustment. Sometimes I take it to reflect on my program, or to get myself in the right mindset to perform, but for the past few seasons, it was just an opportunity to get away from the noise. To clear my mind and remind myself of the things that truly matter.”

“And it… helps you?” Yuuri said, then wanted to kick himself for asking such a stupid question.

“You know, I don’t even know,” Victor said with a laugh. “I’ve been doing it so long I don’t know how well I might do without it. But I like it, whether it helps or not. I like to get away from people for a few minutes, because eyes are on me the entire rest of the time I’m here.”

“So why am I here, then?”

Victor turned to him with a smile. “Because I want you here. When I did this yesterday, I couldn’t clear my head at all—all I could think about was wanting you to be here with me, or how much I wanted to skate for you. For the first time I can ever recall, I have someone in my life I never want to be away from.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say. “Victor…”

“Please, don’t say anything else,” he said helplessly. “I’m terrified whatever you say will make me cry again, and I’d rather not spend my remaining time fixing my makeup. I need to warm up my body a little more in the practice room. Will you go wait for me on the sidelines?”

“Of course,” Yuuri said. “You don’t want me to follow you there, too?”

Victor sighed with a pout. “I’m afraid I’m always a distraction to the other skaters, no matter where I go. I can’t do much about who I am, but I can try not to make it worse by having you around to stare at as well.”

“That’s fair,” Yuuri said, trying not to laugh at Victor’s oddly childlike demeanor. It was wholly at odds with his makeup and costume. “Should I go now?”

“We’ll go out together,” Victor said. “Even if it’s just a minute or two more, I’d like to be with you.”

Never before had Yuuri felt so wanted in his life. His face was hot all the way back to the rink, and he and Victor parted ways with a chaste kiss, Yuuri careful not to smudge any of his makeup.

There were a handful of skaters still left before Victor, and Yuuri managed to watch most of them with a clear head. He found himself more invested than yesterday, clapping when jumps were landed cleanly, cringing and groaning when they weren’t.  The skater from Latvia came up, right before Victor’s skate, and for the first time Yuuri allowed himself a good look at his coach.

He was handsome. Devastatingly so. It made sense that Victor would have ended up in a relationship with someone like him—he oozed charisma even as he was deep in conversation with his skater.

Jealousy faded as quickly as it came. Victor had chosen Yuuri. That man couldn’t be what Victor needed, but Yuuri could. They weren’t in competition at all, and even if they were, Yuuri had won before they’d even met.

Yuuri was enthralled by the beautiful movements of the Latvian skater when Victor rejoined him. “He’s just like his coach.”

“Is he?” Yuuri asked. “I’m not familiar.”

Victor laughed warmly. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered you only watched me, or have pity on you for missing out. He was—and still is—a phenomenal skater, and his protégé is shaping into something just as beautiful as him.”

“Do you… ever speak to him?”

Victor gave Yuuri a sidelong glance. “I take it you’ve made some guesses about us?” He sighed. “Not many know we were ever together, and it’s better that way. I do sometimes miss his friendship, but he and I are better off with a distance between us.”

Yuuri sensed some bitterness there, but decided now wasn’t the time to ask about it. “Are you ready?”

Victor’s hand found Yuuri’s at his side, and he held tightly. “I’m ready. Did you get spoiled yet?”

“I haven’t looked at anything,” Yuuri said. “I have no idea what song you’re skating to.”

“You will.” Victor turned to face Yuuri just as the Latvian skater’s song ended. “Remember to breathe. I want you to see the whole thing.”

Yuuri looked up at him. “I’ll do my best. I don’t want to miss a second.”

Victor smiled so brilliantly it made Yuuri’s heart flutter. “I’m going to talk to Yakov for a few minutes, but stand nearby, alright? I want to touch you once more before it starts.”

“Of—of course.”

Victor turned towards the entrance to the ice. He said something in French to the younger Latvian skater, who ducked his head and nodded before going to his coach. He looked truly winded, and Yuuri had no idea if he was disappointed or happy with his skate.

By his reaction to his scores at the kiss and cry, he was happy. But Yuuri couldn’t pay attention for more than a few seconds, as Victor finished with Yakov and slid down the length of the barrier to where Yuuri waited.

Yuuri scrambled to find some words of encouragement that might mean something, but he couldn’t think of anything that hadn’t already been said. He stared into those clear blue eyes, all the more prominent surrounded by dark lines and eyeshadow, and tried to project his feelings straight into Victor’s mind. He reached for Victor’s hands, his big, strong, lace-covered hands, and held them reverently before pulling them both to his lips and kissing them in turn. “I’m watching,” Yuuri said.

Victor’s eyes shone as he gifted Yuuri with one last smile, and he pushed off the barrier, the crowd screaming his name. Yuuri wanted to scream with them, but felt he’d done a pretty good job of conveying his support already. He saved his voice and turned his entire focus on Victor as a hush went over the crowd.

 _Can…_  
_Anybody…_  
_Find me…_  
_Somebody to…_  
_Love…_

Victor started his program with a quad lutz, and a laugh of disbelief escaped Yuuri as he landed.

So he was _that_ sort of Queen?

Victor was entirely into his program, his choreography matching the music with breathless accuracy, his pleas for a lover seeming almost genuine. With the dramatic costume and the makeup, it should’ve looked like a joke, but only someone like Victor could have so much fun and make it look entirely sincere. Beneath the theatrics was a very difficult routine, packed to the brim with components that showed off Victor’s talent and experience. He spared no points with his quad-triple combinations, and skated them cleanly, his limbs seeming to gain power and confidence with every jump. All until his final jump—a quad loop, Yuuri thought—landed with two feet on the ground. A small error compared to the immense force behind the rest of his program, and as Victor spun elegantly at the end, Yuuri was panting heavily with excitement.

The crowd cheered with a deafening roar, and Yuuri, without thinking, joined in. He screamed Victor’s name, called out to him until his voice was raw. Victor, who’d been bowing and waving to the crowd, turned and stared right at Yuuri. Yuuri stopped screaming, and he saw something in Victor’s look that made his body move towards the entrance to the ice.

As dog plushes and flowers rained down around them, Victor skated towards Yuuri, time slowing down to a crawl just as it had at the airport. Victor hadn’t slowed down his momentum enough to avoid crashing into Yuuri, but Yuuri held tightly until they regained their balance.

“You’re amazing,” Yuuri whispered to him, his arms full of warm Victor. “You’re so amazing.” And they kissed, their lips crushing together with feverish need. Victor opened his mouth, and Yuuri did too, daring to slip his tongue inside just a little, just to taste.

Victor pulled away with a gasp, his breathing still heavy from his lengthy, difficult performance. There were unshed tears in his eyes, and he seemed at a loss for words.

“Alright, alright, get over to the kiss and cry,” Yakov said, tapping their sides with his cane.

Victor laughed, and kept an arm around Yuuri as he put on his skate guards. Cameras followed them closely, and Yuuri tried not to think of anyone back home seeing him. Minako might, since she’d been a skating fan too, but…

Yuuri was distracted from that train of thought by how tightly Victor was holding his hand. They sat on the bench, waiting for his scores, and Yuuri noticed he held on tightly to his coach, too. Yuuri squeezed back his reassurance.

The score was… lower than Yuuri expected. His PCS was especially low, considering Victor’s legacy and experience on top of that beautiful interpretation of the music. It was easily enough to beat the skaters who’d come before him, but Yuuri felt cheated, somehow.

Victor, on the other hand, grinned for the camera, hugged Yakov, and tugged Yuuri away from the sidelines. He didn’t say anything until they were back in the locker room, and Victor started removing his skates.

Yuuri fell hard onto the bench next to him. “That was a really unfair—”

“Don’t,” Victor interrupted quietly. “Don’t say anything here. I know how you feel, but it’s just the way it is, and nothing will be gained by complaining now. I’m sure my fans are taking it to the internet as we speak, and they can do enough complaining for the both of us.”

“You’re not… disappointed?”

Victor popped off his skates and rubbed at his feet. “I can’t be disappointed after a skate like that. You think so too, don’t you?”

“It was amazing,” Yuuri said again, feeling like he might be wearing out that word. “You completely owned it. The judges were blind.”

“The judges are set in their ways,” Victor said, lowering his voice again. “To be honest, I expected them to go a little easier on me, but I already knew it was a possibility they wouldn’t like the program. For once in my life, though, I’m not doing anything to please them. This was for myself, and you, and all those who have supported me over my career.”

Yuuri leaned into him, sulking. Victor still radiated heat. “No one is better than you.”

“Who could ask for a better judge than my number-one fan?” Victor asked with a laugh.

They went into the bleachers to watch the second group of skaters, ending, of course, with Chris’s skate. A high-scoring, difficult program performed to a powerful instrumental song from a movie, skated maturely and cleanly. Yuuri found himself enraptured the whole time, and cheered along with the audience when he finished.

“He’s going to beat me,” Victor whispered in Yuuri’s ear before Chris had even gotten off the ice.

“You think so?”

Victor nodded to the score board. “Just watch.”

Sure enough, Chris’s combined score was several points higher than Victor’s, pushing him into first place. Yuuri tried to read Victor’s reaction, but his face remained impassive as he applauded with the rest of the audience.

Chris, on the other hand, seemed to be in tears, wiping at his eyes as he stood up and waved to the crowd once more.

“Does he look a little… lonely, to you?” Yuuri found himself asking.

“His coach is there,” Victor said.

“That’s not really… what I mean.” Yuuri reached for Victor’s hand, weaving their fingers together and squeezing.

Victor’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

Yuuri nodded timidly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If it’s something you want… and him too, obviously. Though I’m not really sure how to breach the subject…”

Victor squeezed back. “Leave that part to me.”

The awards ceremony seemed to go on forever, Yuuri antsy about his decision as he watched Chris, Victor, and the Latvian skater take what seemed to be a million photos together. At first Yuuri heavily second-guessed himself, wondering if he was getting cold feet, but the more he thought about it, and the more he saw Victor hanging off of Chris, the more he was finding himself looking forward to it. Chris was handsome, charming, and positively oozed sex appeal. His voice made Yuuri shiver. He also had a lot of experience with Victor, which might help Yuuri learn something new about his lover. Anything that could help Yuuri become a better partner was a good thing, right?

He tried not to get his hopes up too high, though. Victor might’ve been fairly certain that Chris would accept, but Yuuri couldn’t rule out the possibility of Chris being too tired, or having other plans, or not wanting to have sex without his new fiancé. Yuuri had his own backup plan if that were the case, but he couldn’t fight down that little spark inside him that wanted Chris to join them tonight.

Yuuri stood by as interviews were given, and when it was finally time to leave, he’d worked himself into a nervous sweat. He watched as Victor whispered something to Chris, who nodded, and kissed Victor on the cheek before leaving with his coach.

Yuuri’s heart sank as Victor returned. He tried not to let it show on his face. “Is that a no?”

Victor gave a half-smile, and patted Yuuri’s back. “Let’s go back to the hotel and talk there.”

Back in their room Victor removed his costume and spent some time alone in the bathroom, and in the silence Yuuri began to wonder if he’d done something wrong. He’d expected to talk right after they got back, but Victor seemed intent on showering first, and Yuuri didn’t quite feel like they were at the point in their relationship where he would be comfortable barging in on him in the bathroom.

But what had Chris said? What did Victor want to talk about? The wait was driving Yuuri crazy, his sex drive mingling with his anxiety to create a cocktail of nerves that made him restless and fidgety. He just wanted to know.

When Victor emerged from the bathroom a while later, he was fully dressed and looked ready to go out. “Sorry for taking so long,” he said, but offered no explanation.

“Are you… going somewhere?”

“Chris doesn’t give himself away for free,” Victor said lightheartedly. “We’re going to a celebratory dinner.”

“Does this include me?”

Victor blinked. “Why wouldn’t it? Unless you’d rather stay and wait for us.”

Yuuri was confused. “Wait, so—is this happening?”

“Didn’t I—” Victor stopped himself. “I didn’t tell you, did I? I meant to.”

“You haven’t said a word to me since we left the rink.”

Victor sat on the bed next to Yuuri, taking his hand. His thumb brushed little circles onto his palm. “I’m sorry, I got too caught up in my cleaning rituals. Of course he agreed. I owe him dinner and drinks first, but after that, we’re coming back up here. The three of us, if you still want to.”

Yuuri swallowed back a sudden rise of arousal. “I—I do.”

Victor moved his hand up to Yuuri’s hair, brushing his bangs back gently. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to do this if it’s only for my sake.”

Yuuri smiled as the tension in his chest eased. “I’m excited. I’ve never done anything like this before, but I want to… try something new, for once. Phichit would scream if he knew I were doing this.”

“Phichit, the man in a poly relationship, would object to you having a threesome?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Not object. It would just be… Well, it would go against what he expects of me. I don’t have the best track record of being adventurous, except when I’m drunk or modeling. Not that I’ve ever had the opportunity presented to me.”

“Phichit never asked you?”

Yuuri shifted on the bed. “I think he liked keeping me separate from the other two. I was something different, something… more comforting to come home to. Uncomplicated, at least until I started dating you and he had to sort out his feelings.”

“Well, I can tell you that this will probably be as uncomplicated as it gets when it comes to threesomes,” Victor said reassuringly. “But they’re still not simple. Is there anything I should know about up front, as far as what boundaries you want to set? We’ll talk more when Chris is here, but is there anything you want to say while it’s just us?”

“Do you think…” Yuuri fingered a wrinkle in the blanket as he gathered his thoughts. “Would you or Chris be too disappointed if he didn’t—didn’t get to fuck you? I don’t want to come across as possessive, but…”

“But you feel that way towards me?”

“Just—just that act in particular,” Yuuri said, flushing from the subject matter. “I don’t think I’d be happy watching someone else do it to you, is all.”

Victor cupped Yuuri’s chin, prompting him to look up at his lover. “This is precisely the sort of thing I need to know. Don’t be embarrassed or ashamed for talking about it.” He released Yuuri, and rubbed the back of his head. “For what it’s worth, Chris might be a _little_ disappointed, but I don’t think he’s coming into this with any expectations. As long as we find a way to keep him sufficiently involved, he’ll be fine. You’re fine with me touching him, right?”

Yuuri nodded. “I have no problem with that, so long as I’m not ignored.”

“Oh, I get the feeling you won’t let either of us ignore you,” Victor said in a seductive voice, fingertips walking along Yuuri’s thigh. “Going along with your request, though, I don’t want Chris to fuck you, either. I like being the only one you’ve ever given yourself to like that, and I won’t easily let that privilege go.”

“I don’t—don’t think you have to worry about that,” Yuuri said, his arousal hard to ignore now.

“Mm, I’m not so sure.” Victor’s breath was hot on Yuuri’s neck. “You haven’t seen his cock.”

Yuuri inhaled sharply. “O-oh? And what—what’s that like?”

“Mmm… It’s big. Thick. Hard to fit in your mouth, but it looks so good you want to try anyway.”

“Is that something you want me to try?” Yuuri asked breathily.

Victor looked up, putting a finger to his chin. “Now that you mention it…”

Yuuri laughed. “Okay, I’m getting too worked up. At this rate, I won’t want dinner.”

Victor leaned in and nuzzled Yuuri’s neck with his nose. “This is the pre-appetizer.”

Somehow, Yuuri pried himself away from Victor and freshened up for dinner. He didn’t change clothes, but he did gel back his hair, and slipped on a dinner jacket before putting on his coat. Yuuri had a feeling they’d be going somewhere nice, based on the way Victor was dressed.

And he’d been right.

After meeting Chris in the lobby and cramming into the back of a cab—Yuuri wedged in the middle—they ended up at a restaurant with a name Yuuri wasn’t sure how to pronounce. As soon as they entered, however, the smell of peppery grilled meat hit him in waves, and his stomach growled. If steak was in his future, he didn’t care whether or not he could pronounce anything on the menu.

Victor said a few words to the host, and they were seated immediately. When Victor had made reservations, Yuuri wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to question his blessings. They were seated at a round booth, and again Yuuri was placed in the middle. He was starting to believe it was intentional.

“So, you’re a fan of steak, Yuuri?” Chris asked.

“It’s not something get to have often…” Yuuri said.

“He’s a fan,” Victor said with a laugh. “Never seen a man enjoy his food so much.”

“Don’t tell me you only brought us here because I like steak,” Yuuri said with an accusing look at Victor.

“Don’t worry—Chris does too.”

“I can’t say no to a fine piece of meat,” Chris said suggestively.

The waiter came by and listed off the specials, but Victor ordered a bottle of wine and a salad for the table before asking for a little more time with the menu. Yuuri had a hard time deciding which he wanted more—everything looked amazing.

Chris put an arm around Yuuri. “Need any help?”

“I’m just not sure what to get when it all looks so good.”

“Have you had prime rib before?”

Yuuri shook his head.

“Try it,” Chris said. “It’s a very sensual experience.”

“Is—is that what you’re getting?” Yuuri asked.

Chris leaned back. “Mmm, I’m in the mood for something a little more tender to sink my teeth into tonight. Filet mignon, I think.”

Victor chuckled. “You can’t turn it off for more than a second, can you, Chris?”

“It’s not like it’s a mystery why I’m here,” Chris said, reaching for his wine glass. “If we want to enjoy ourselves tonight, we should get comfortable with one another. Don’t you think so, Yuuri?”

“We’re just discussing the menu,” Yuuri said, feigning innocence. “I think I will try the prime rib.”

The waiter came back with their wine and took their orders. Victor ended up ordering the salmon, which Chris, apparently, found interesting.

“Still keeping to your diet, love?” Chris asked him.

Victor picked up his freshly-poured glass of wine and sniffed it delicately before swishing it around. “I can’t order fish without being accused of dieting?”

“I know your tastes,” Chris said. “You only eat fish when you’re training.”

“Or, perhaps, I don’t want to weigh myself down with heavy meat tonight,” Victor said. He winked at Yuuri before taking a sip of his wine. “Ah, perfect.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “A red, with fish?”

“I didn’t get this as a pair,” Victor said. “It stands on its own. It will pair well with yours and Yuuri’s, though.”

Yuuri somehow felt that if he didn’t insert himself into the conversation, they’d be talking over him all night. “This is probably a stupid question, but do you two… drink wine a lot?” he asked.

“It’s an art,” Chris said, picking up his own glass. “Knowing how to taste it, and how to pair it with food— it takes a trained palate. Let’s say that Victor and I have trained ours fairly well.”

“I admit I didn’t have much affection for the drink until about five years ago, or so,” Victor said. “It’s entirely due to the man sitting beside you. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t care one way or another.”

“You always preferred the harder stuff,” Chris said teasingly.

“Still do,” Victor said.

Chris nudged Yuuri in the ribs. “What about you, then? What’s your drink of choice?”

“Beer, mostly,” Yuuri said. “If I’m at home, anyway. In social situations I’ll drink almost anything, but if I’m at a bar, I prefer sour cocktails.”

“He’s apparently quite the fun drunk, if his friend is to be believed,” Victor said.

“I think Phichit’s sent you more than enough proof of that,” Yuuri said, flushing.

Chris gave a low laugh. “A _fun_ drunk, you say? What sort of fun are we talking, here?”

Victor put an arm around Yuuri and leaned closer to Chris, speaking quietly. “The kind where he strips mostly naked and starts grinding on his friends.”

“Mm, that _does_ sound like fun. Are we getting drunk tonight, then?”

“I—I’d like to be mostly sober, if that’s alright,” Yuuri put in, his head boiling. He was trying his best to keep up with the banter, but it was becoming clearer by the minute that he was more than a little out of his element. He took a sip of his own wine, but could hardly tell the difference between it and every other red wine he’d had before. “It’s true I let my inhibitions fall spectacularly with the right amount of alcohol, but I’d like to remember tonight, if possible.”

“Looking for a memorable night?” Chris said suggestively.

“Well, it already is one,” Yuuri said sincerely. “Being here, watching you two skate and win together—it’s been one of the most memorable nights of my life. Of course I’m open to making it more so, but really—if I went to bed right now, it would still be one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

Chris snaked his arm around Yuuri’s back, hugging him affectionately. “Victor, you never told me your lover was such a sweetheart. Now I’m afraid of tainting him by involving myself with you two.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Victor said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “He might be sweet now, but he’s a monster in the bedroom.”

Chris gasped dramatically . “Victor! He’s _right_ _here_!”

“He’s not lying,” Yuuri said, gently pushing the both of them away to give himself space. “But if the two of you don’t behave during dinner, none of us is getting what we want tonight.”

“Harsh,” Chris said, amused. “Speaking of—what _do_ we want tonight?”

“We can talk about that later,” Yuuri said, finding his confidence now that he wasn’t so crowded. “Firstly, though, I’d like to know how your fiancé feels about this.”

“He’s mad at himself for getting sick and not being here for my win,” Chris said, pulling out his phone. “But if you want to know—look here. Victor can translate for you.” He slid his phone between Victor and Yuuri, a messaging app on the screen.

“ _I’m jealous you’re having so much fun, but you know you deserve it,”_ Victor said. “ _Be safe and don’t let them bully you._ ” He looked up at Chris. “He’s afraid of _us_ bullying _you?”_

Chris shrugged and picked up his phone. “I’m not used to being outnumbered.”

“Pretty sure no one’s getting bullied tonight,” Yuuri said.

“I’m not?” Victor asked, looking hurt.

Chris snorted.

“Okay, no one’s getting bullied _without consent_ ,” Yuuri corrected, stifling a laugh. “You two are going to kill me.”

The salad came first, and Victor and Chris talked a lot about skating again, which was interesting to Yuuri, even though he didn’t have much to add. That was, until Chris brought up something he _could_ talk about.

“Your costume tonight, Victor—absolutely gorgeous,” Chris said. “When you told me your song and said something about a royal theme, I thought you’d be doing an homage to Freddie’s jacket, but that monster you came out in—perfect. You did a good job, Yuuri.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, embarrassed but proud.

“You’re about to be getting a lot of calls soon, if you haven’t already,” Chris said.

“Phichit already told me the emails are pouring in,” Yuuri said. “Not looking forward to sorting through them when I get back, but I’m glad for the positive attention.”

“Are you planning on expanding?” Chris asked.

“Not right now,” Yuuri said. “Once we’ve seen what sorts of offers we get, Phichit and I will be discussing new price points. I don’t want to overcharge just for our name, but—”

“You absolutely should overcharge for your name,” Victor said.

Chris nodded. “If you can get away with it.”

“I don’t think I can avoid it,” Yuuri said. “But I’ll feel bad for the customers I’ve had since the beginning, since I don’t think they can afford more than what I already charge.”

“So don’t charge them as much,” Chris said. “There’s nothing saying you can’t play favorites. Reward their loyalty if you want to, and charge the newcomers more.”

“I don’t want to be unfair…”

Chris lifted his arms in a stretch. “World’s unfair, love.”

“Which is more unfair, getting underpaid for work that people are clearly willing to pay top dollar for, or offering discounts to those who’ve been loyal to you?” Victor asked. “I’m not trying to make your decisions for you—obviously, talk it over with your partner. But don’t sell yourself short out of some perception of fairness. If people want to pay you for your work, then it’s fair to let them pay you. If you think it’s fair to give discounts to your loyal customers, then you should.”

“I’ll… talk it over with Phichit,” Yuuri said, just a little uncomfortable with this subject.

“Good,” Victor said. “He won’t let you sell yourself short.”

“This Phichit… was he responsible for either of Victor’s costumes?” Chris asked.

Yuuri shook his head. “Normally we collaborate on just about every costume, but I insisted on doing Victor’s myself. They were very… personal to me.”

“I’m sensing a story there,” Chris said. “Though I already know about what Victor did to you, it sounds like there’s more to it.”

“I…” Yuuri hesitated, then turned to Victor, who nodded him on. “Designing a costume for Victor has been my dream since I was really young. I selfishly banned my partner from working on them, because I wanted to feel like they were entirely mine.”

“From what I recall, Phichit didn’t have any problem with it,” Victor said. “He understood.”

Chris patted Yuuri’s shoulder. “So you were fulfilling a dream, then? No wonder it’s such a good night for you. I’m surprised you want me to be a part of it at all.”

Yuuri smiled a little. “I made the decision on a whim, but the more I think about, the more I’m looking forward to it,” he admitted. “Besides, you deserve some celebration, yourself. I mean, you beat Victor.”

Chris laughed. “A rare enough event. I’m not expecting it to last, so I guess it’s good we’re celebrating now.”

Victor recoiled. “Who are you and what have you done with Christophe Giacometti?”

“I’m not being modest, I’m being practical,” Chris said. “Your program is far better than mine. Get the right judges at the GPF, and I’ve got no chance.”

Victor sipped his wine. “I’m not trying to win.”

“Bullshit,” Chris spat.

“I’m not!” Victor insisted. “I _want_ to win. I always want to win. But I’m not _trying_ to. I haven’t tried to win in years.”

Chris sighed. “Your training’s turned you into a lightweight again, spouting such drunken nonsense after half a glass.”

“It’s not nonsense when it’s true,” Victor said.

“It’s not true,” Chris said. “You’re only trying to protect your ego by saying that if you only tried _harder,_ you’d be winning.”

Victor’s eyebrow twitched, and Yuuri knew he was truly annoyed. “If I were trying to win, dear friend, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be retired now, with a body more broken than it already is. If I were trying to win, I would’ve run myself into the ground years ago trying to beat a prodigy 12 years younger than me. I gave up on winning long ago, but it’s not like I stopped taking competition seriously. I just compete for different reasons than with any expectation that I’ll win.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “We all work within the constraints of our own bodies. You’re not special.”

“But see, Chris, if I were _truly_ trying to win, if I were giving it my all, I wouldn’t be.”

Their argument was mercifully interrupted by their mains arriving, surrounding them in the delicious smells of cooked meat and fish. Yuuri was a little intimidated by the redness of his steak, but once he had a piece of it in his mouth, all his apprehension flew out the window. He’d thought Chris was being needlessly suggestive when he’d called it a sensual experience, but Yuuri wasn’t sure he could come up with a better way to describe it. The meat was tender and juicy, and had a richer flavor than any beef he’d had before.

He didn’t even want to think of how much it cost. The steak menu didn’t have prices listed, but Yuuri was starting to wonder if he hadn’t ordered one of the most expensive cuts.

“So where’d you hear about this place, Chris?” Victor asked, as if they hadn’t just been arguing. “The food is exceptional.”

“Just an internet search,” Chris said. “It’s a habit of ours to seek out the best restaurants when we travel. I’m glad you invited me, because I doubt I would have bothered coming here by myself.”

“Of course we wouldn’t leave you to celebrate alone,” Victor said.

“Well, I was invited to go with my coach, but who want to spend a night celebrating with a bunch of old men?” Chris said over a mouthful of his own steak.

“Watch those words—that will be us someday,” Victor said.

Chris groaned. “No, that will _not_ be me. You, I could see. You’ll grow into a balding, world-weary, grumpy old man like your coach.”

“I will _not_ go bald,” Victor hissed.

Yuuri tried to stifle a giggle, but failed spectacularly. He didn’t think he’d had _that_ much wine.

“Someone’s enjoying himself,” Chris said.

“You two act like an old married couple,” Yuuri said. “It’s cute.”

“Chris and I know each other too well,” Victor said. “Unfortunately that means we also know how to tear each other apart.”

“We were an old couple from the start,” Chris said thoughtfully. “That’s why we couldn’t be together very long. You two, though—you’re fresh as spring lilies. I see your bright eyes when you look at each other and I know you’re still learning. You’re still curious. You’re still burning. And it’s a beautiful thing.”

“Is that not something you have with your fiancé?” Yuuri asked.

“I wouldn’t be marrying him if we didn’t,” Chris said, hiding a shy grin behind his wine glass. “I find out new things about him every day we’re together. Victor, though, always had trouble breaking free of the box I put him in from the beginning.”

“Box?” Yuuri asked. “What do you mean?”

“An idol, a rival… It’s hard to separate the friend from the competitor, in my mind,” Chris said. “Sure, we have a lot in common, and we’re capable of having an affectionate relationship outside our careers, but a part of me will always be looking for a way to best him. Every new thing I learned was just more potential ammo for our rivalry. I didn’t like making myself vulnerable to him. It’s not a good way to conduct a relationship.”

Yuuri clutched his wine glass as Victor refilled it for him. “I’m glad you two remained friends, even after you realized it.”

“I will never not admire Victor,” Chris said. “It was always worth holding onto our friendship.”

Victor smiled and lifted his own glass. “I feel the same to you, dear friend. Congratulations on your magnificent performance.”

Chris lifted his as well, clinking it to Victor’s. “And to you, _mon chéri._ ”

They lingered in the restaurant long after their plates were gone, digesting their food and finishing off their bottle of wine. Yuuri felt warm and content between the two longtime friends, listening to their soothing, accented voices tell stories of their younger years. Yuuri didn’t have much to say, but he was having his own silent conversation beneath the table with the two of them. Chris’s leg had unapologetically bumped Yuuri’s enough times during the evening to make clear it wasn’t an accident, so Yuuri had slipped off his shoe and began to subtly tease Chris’s ankles with his toes. On his other side, he’d been stroking Victor’s hand, but Victor had started using both of his hands to gesture through a story, so Yuuri had taken to running his fingertips along the length of his thigh instead, moving progressively closer to his crotch without touching it. Neither of them reacted with much more than slight curl of lips, but as the evening progressed Yuuri started noticing Chris shifting in his seat more, and Victor getting a perpetual flush along his cheeks and nose.

Eventually, Chris drained his glass and cleared his throat. “Well, shall we head back?”

In the car, Yuuri kept his hands to himself while the two men to either side of him stared out their respective windows. It was tempting to put another log onto the slow-burning fire of arousal Yuuri had kindled, but something in his companions’ body language told him to wait.

In the elevator at the hotel, Victor handed Chris his keycard, whispering something in his ear as they reached their floor.

“Not coming with us?” Yuuri asked as he got off the elevator.

“I’ll join you soon,” Chris said with a wink, and continued up to his floor.

“What did you say to him?” Yuuri asked as he unlocked their door.

“I asked him to bring something fun,” Victor said.

Yuuri swallowed a nervous bubble. “Something…fun? Like what?”

“With Chris, it could be anything,” Victor said, taking off his coat and jacket.

“Why would he pack something like that, though? Since his partner is sick.”

“Chris is usually well-prepared for any situation,” Victor said. He hung up his jacket in the closet. “When was your flight tomorrow?”

“3pm,” Yuuri said. “Why?”

“Just wondering if either of us needs to pack now. My flight is just a little earlier, but we should have enough time in the morning.”

Victor was worried about that _now?_ How could he be so calm? Yuuri was having to fight just to keep from nervously fidgeting. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine. I’m going to use the bathroom, if that’s alright.”

Victor frowned. “By all means.”

After relieving himself, Yuuri washed his hands but lingered at the sink, slapping water onto his heat-stained cheeks. He knew this was a last-ditch effort for his anxiety to take over, but simply knowing about it wasn’t enough to suppress it. Too many things cycled through his mind that he knew could go wrong, and the spiral was moving too fast for him to combat it with any sort of logic. What if Chris didn’t listen to him? What if he laughed at Yuuri? What business did Yuuri have getting into bed with these extremely fit, experienced, sexy figure skaters, anyway? How could he honestly hold his own against them? He didn’t know anything. He was green, practically a virgin compared to them.

Someone knocked, interrupting his thoughts. “Yuuri, are you alright?”

Victor’s voice broke through just enough for Yuuri to answer truthfully. “No.”

“I’m coming in,” Victor said, slowly pushing down the handle and easing the door open. He reached over and turned off the sink. Yuuri hadn’t realized it was still running. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I do,” Yuuri said, though he knew the tremble in his voice would be unconvincing. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I do, really.”

Victor leaned against the counter, watching Yuuri’s face. “What are you afraid of?”

“I—” Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. “Stupid things. Things I know won’t happen.”

Victor gently removed Yuuri’s glasses. “It’s not stupid to worry. Tell me your fears. I won’t call them stupid, because they’re not.”

Yuuri took a deep breath. “There are a lot, but I guess I really… I’m afraid I won’t measure up to either of you. You’re both sexy as hell—I mean, you’re athletes—and you know each other really well, and I feel like I’m still new to this whole thing, and I just…” He turned to Victor. “I’m afraid I won’t be good enough.”

“Come here,” Victor said, opening his arms. Yuuri gravitated to him and put his head to Victor’s shoulder. “Do you remember, that first time we had sex, I told Chris you were better than him? That wasn’t a lie. That was an understatement. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, and the only one I ever want.”

“But—”

Victor squeezed tighter. “If you don’t want Chris to be here tonight, we can still say no. He’ll understand. It can be just you and me, if you like.”

“I don’t… I _want_ him here,” Yuuri said. “I… want him.”

“Is that so?” Victor asked, amused. “Tell me what you want.”

Instead of doubts, Yuuri’s head suddenly filled with possibilities. “I want to see him. I want to know… know what he sounds like.”

“What he sounds like?”

“When he’s—he’s touched, or otherwise getting pleasured,” Yuuri said. “And I want him to touch me.”

“Touch you in what way?” Victor asked, clearly urging Yuuri on.

“Just—all over. I want to feel his fingers all over my body.”

Victor slowly moved his hands up and down Yuuri’s back. “Is there anything else?”

“Lots of things,” Yuuri said, closing his eyes. “So many things.”

“Are you doing okay now?”

“No,” Yuuri said. He pushed his lower body against Victor’s legs. “Now I’m too horny.”

Victor’s laugh was warm. “We can wait a few more minutes. Chris won’t take long.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want tonight?” Yuuri asked. “What do you want to see, or do?”

“It’s hard enough to handle just one of you, I’m expecting the two of you to bring me within an inch of my sanity tonight,” Victor said. “In a good way. I’m curious to how you’ll work together.”

“Just to make it clear, you’re looking for insults tonight?”

“I would be incredibly disappointed if you didn’t.”

“And you want me to fuck you?”

“Eventually,” Victor said in a low voice. “I won’t be upset if you take your time about getting there.”

“I’ll do my best.” Yuuri turned his head and nuzzled Victor’s neck. “I love you. Thank you for talking me out of my fears.”

“I’m just glad I could,” Victor said, pulling back to meet Yuuri’s lips, breathing in a long kiss. “I love you, too. And remember, you can always say no to anything. Same goes for Chris—he’ll let you know if you do something he doesn’t like.”

Yuuri nodded. “I think we’ll be fine, though.”

“I think so, too. Are you ready, or do you need to do anything else to prepare?”

Yuuri thought for just a moment. “I think I’m ready.”

A smile on his lips, Victor picked up Yuuri’s hand and led him to their bed, urging him to lay back on the mattress.

“Chris isn’t here yet,” Yuuri said as Victor climbed on top of him.

“He’s probably expecting us to be warmed up by the time he gets here,” Victor said. “Don’t worry. We’ll save him the real fun, but I can’t keep waiting on him.”

The kiss Victor gave was full of fire, his tongue probing Yuuri’s throat without hesitation. If Yuuri’s body hadn’t been one-hundred-percent awake to the moment before, it definitely was now, his cock aching to be touched. Yuuri groaned, his legs spreading of their own accord. Victor shifted between them, allowing Yuuri to wrap his legs around Victor’s torso, pulling him in closer until Yuuri could feel Victor’s arousal pulsing through his pants.

Yuuri had the passing thought that he wouldn’t mind getting fucked, just then. But the rich possibilities the night could bring, the image of Victor entirely at his mercy, quickly pushed that thought aside.

Still, Yuuri wouldn’t mind Victor putting that probing tongue to good use…

“I should have known you two would start without me,” Chris said. Yuuri hadn’t even heard him come in.

Victor pulled away, Yuuri reluctantly releasing him. “Just keeping warm for you. What did you bring me?”

Chris carried a black bag over his shoulder, but held it close. “This is for Yuuri. You don’t get to look.”

Yuuri pushed himself into a sitting position just in time to catch the bag Chris tossed to him. “For me?”

“Use anything you want on him,” Chris said. He came over to the bed and put his big hand on Victor’s head. “Or nothing at all. I won’t be upset if you reject the whole arsenal, but I’m expecting some creativity. Do whatever inspires you.”

Yuuri turned away, hiding the bag from Victor as he opened it. He pulled out the lube and condoms, setting them aside for easy access, but the rest of the contents he left inside, digging through them curiously. “Hmm. Well, there are certainly some _inspiring_ items in here. But I’m not in any hurry.”

Chris kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed, leaning in close to Yuuri. “Let me know if you need any advice,” he said in a low voice, his breath making Yuuri’s neck hair stand on end. “He’s particularly fond of that thing you have your hand around there.”

“I see.” Yuuri put it down and picked up another instrument. “And this?”

“Once or twice. He’d probably like it better with you.”

Victor was sitting close enough to hear them, close enough that Yuuri could hear his breath accelerate a little, but he had no way of knowing what they were discussing.

Yuuri dug through and pulled out one more thing, partially because he was curious, but mostly because he kept wanting to tease Victor. “What about this one?”

“I’d use that one only if he’s been very good.”

“Really? I thought you’d use it on someone who’s been bad.”

“He likes it too much for that.”

Victor audibly whined. Yuuri laughed. “Thank you, Chris. I’m sure we’ll come up with an eventful evening.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Chris said. “Might I ask what you’d like _my_ role to be tonight?”

“As a starter, I’d like to just observe you two together for a little while,” Yuuri said. “Do what you might’ve done if I weren’t around. Only—for my sake, please speak English. I want to understand what you’re saying to him.”

“I expected nothing else,” Chris said. “Though everything sounds filthier in English.”

“All the better,” Yuuri said. “I’ll insert myself when I’m ready.” He made to climb off the bed. “Oh, and one more thing—that ass belongs to me. Touch it if you must, but nothing goes in without my permission.” He pulled over the desk chair for a good view, and sat down to the show.

Chris laughed quietly, and put the bag aside. “Fair enough. Victor, come over here.”

Victor, who’d been oddly quiet throughout this whole exchange, obediently went to Chris on the bed, looming over him as he’d done to Yuuri. Chris grabbed him by the necktie and pulled him down for a forceful kiss.

Yuuri wouldn’t lie to himself—it was jarring to see Victor kiss another man. His instinct was to cry out in protest. The only thing that kept him from doing so in that moment was knowing that _he_ was in control. He _could_ make it stop if he wanted. Both of them would listen to him.

But Yuuri didn’t want to make it stop. The insatiable beast inside him wanted to watch these two powerful, athletic, graceful men touch each other. He wanted to know how his lover had sex with another man. And, eventually, Yuuri wanted both of them for himself.

All those wants were quick to quash his primal jealousy, and soon Yuuri was unbuttoning his shirt to get some air to his overly hot body. Victor was on his knees now with his head bowed, as if he were ashamed.

“Aren’t you glad you’re retiring?” Chris asked, his voice taking on a different tone than before. There was a drawl to it, a smugness that wasn’t part of his natural voice. “A defeat like that must be humiliating. If you lose to me, what makes you think you stand a chance against any of those young prodigies?”

“Those little whelps can’t do shit,” Victor said, lifting his chin defiantly. “Jumps, jumps, jumps, that’s it. Where’s the art? Where’s the eleg—”

Chris grasped Victor’s jaw tightly. “You’re a fucking loser, Victor. Yesterday’s news. A dried-up husk. You let this sport suck the life out of you. Now you’re here, second to someone who’s only ever beaten you when you were injured. Face it, Victor—you’ve lost it.” He released him, and Victor panted for breath, rubbing his jaw.

“I haven’t lost anything,” Victor said. “I’m skating better than I’ve skated my entire life.”

Chris began unbuttoning Victor’s shirt. “Yeah? Then why the low score?”

“The judges are fuckers.”

“The only fucker I’ve seen tonight is you, love,” Chris said. He pulled off Victor’s shirt and tossed it aside, leaving him with just a tie around his neck. Yuuri secretly hoped he’d leave it there, so he could have the pleasure of tugging Victor around with it, but instead Chris removed it, and used it to tie Victor’s wrists behind his back. “Strutting around like a peacock, expecting the judges to just pour those points all over you, just because you’re Victor Nikiforov. I bet they’re all glad you’re retiring, so they don’t have to overscore you anymore.”

Victor ducked his head again, releasing a strangled sound from his throat. If Yuuri hadn’t known better, he might’ve mistaken it for a sob of genuine pain, but Victor’s arousal was straining hard against his pants.

“Breaking down already?” Chris put a hand on Victor’s hair. “You’ve gone soft without me, Nikiforov.”

“He can handle a bit more,” Yuuri said, standing up. Victor watched him with wary eyes as he approached the bed. “Victor can always handle just a little bit more.”

“Insatiable that way, isn’t he?” Chris asked.

“Mhm.” Yuuri ran his fingertips along Victor’s arm. “I think we’ve let him talk enough for now, though. Would you reach over and get me the…?” He gestured to the bag.

“With pleasure,” Chris said. He leaned over and reached for the bag, and pulled out what Yuuri had asked for.

Victor’s eyes widened, and he gnawed on his bottom lip.

“Do you want this, Victor?” Yuuri asked.

Victor ducked his head again.

“Don’t be ashamed,” Yuuri said soothingly. “I’ll ask again. Do you want this?”

“He won’t admit it,” Chris said. “Just shove it in his mouth.”

Yuuri put his hand to Victor’s face, thumb probing along the edge of his lips. “I think we can get him to admit it.”

Victor opened his mouth and languidly sucked Yuuri’s thumb, tongue swirling up onto Yuuri’s palm. A fresh surge of arousal coursed through Yuuri’s body so suddenly that he had to actively fight not to react to it.

“I think he wants something else in his mouth, first,” Yuuri said, turning to Chris.

“Don’t just give him whatever he wants,” Chris said. “He doesn’t deserve it. Make him wait for it.”

“Good point,” Yuuri conceded. He held up the ball gag. “Victor, open your mouth.”

There was a defiance in Victor’s eyes, but it was undermined by his blown out pupils and his heavy breathing. He opened his mouth, and Yuuri strapped the ball gag around his head.

Yuuri smiled. “Now you’re going to wait, and watch.” He nudged Victor over, resisting the urge to run his hands all over that tense, muscled torso he loved so much. Later, Yuuri reminded himself. He could touch later. Victor went to the far corner of the bed, watching with a cowed expression, his cock visibly pulsing against the fabric of his pants.

Chris was sitting up against the pillows, and Yuuri planted his knees on either side of Chris’s hips, looming over him. “I’ve been waiting patiently for my turn with you.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Victor doesn’t really appreciate you, does he?” Yuuri asked, hooking his fingers into Chris’s necktie and tugging it off. “He takes and takes from you, and doesn’t give much in return. So selfish.”

“Selfish indeed,” Chris said, tilting his head up and accepting the deep-throated kiss Yuuri offered.

Kissing Chris was different. His tongue moved differently, and his lips had a different texture. Yuuri had been kissing Victor long enough that he’d forgotten what another man’s kiss could feel like, but he couldn’t say he was disappointed. It was strange, but thrilling at the same time, especially knowing Victor was watching them closely.

Yuuri shrugged off his shirt, and Chris put his hands on Yuuri’s waist, holding him in place while they made out with increasingly lascivious fervor. Yuuri groaned into the touch, wanting it more than he’d realized, his body silently crying out for more, more. When they broke for air he stretched up, encouraging Chris to move his hands lower, giving Yuuri’s ass a good squeeze. It felt good to be handled. Chris had a firm, assuring touch that gave Yuuri pleasant shivers.

“Victor’s told me something interesting about you,” Yuuri said, wanting to do more touching himself. He lowered his hands to Chris’s pants, unbuttoning them.

“Oh? And what might that be?”

Yuuri licked his lips. “That you’re hiding something magnificent in these pants of yours.”

Chris grinned. “I’m not hiding anything, love. It’s yours for the taking, if you want it.”

“I’m not the only one who does,” Yuuri said with a sidelong glance at Victor. “But I want you to myself before we release him. What do you think?”

“I think you should make him wait longer.”

“Is that because you want to torture him, or is it because you want me?”

“Yes.”

“Good answer,” Yuuri purred. He decided to take his time unbuttoning Chris’s shirt instead of diving straight into the goods, and after he’d pushed aside the fabric, he slowly ran his hands along the hard, muscled expanse of Chris’s beautiful chest. It was clear he worked his upper body more thoroughly than Victor, his pecs larger, his rippling stomach more prominent. Yuuri wouldn’t say he looked _better_ than Victor, but it was a look that suited him, and Yuuri could appreciate what was clearly the result of a lot of care and hard work. Yuuri tweaked a nipple experimentally, enjoying the way Chris grunted in response.

“You’re a beautiful man, Christophe,” Yuuri said sensually. He spared a glance at Victor, who was watching with rapt attention, and Yuuri suddenly realized with a sickening drop of his stomach that Victor had no real way to protest what was being done to him. He _seemed_ okay—as okay as he ever was in a state like that—but what if Yuuri suddenly did something that upset him? How would Yuuri know?

“You’re not so bad yourself, Yuuri,” Chris said in a low voice.

How could they fix this without the moment grinding to a halt? Yuuri needed to think quickly. He kept his attention on Chris’s chest, idly kneading a nipple while Chris explored Yuuri’s back with his fingertips. It was hard to think with his mind so clouded by arousal. He met Victor’s eyes again, and he suddenly saw concern there. He’d noticed Yuuri’s worry.

And somehow, that concern made Yuuri feel better about the whole situation. If Victor was paying close enough attention that he could sense Yuuri’s apprehension, he likely had a way of indicating discomfort, even if it wasn’t established between the three of them beforehand. Chris knew Victor’s desires better than Yuuri did, and Yuuri had to trust that he wouldn’t have put Victor in a position he didn’t like or couldn’t get himself out of. Still, Yuuri wanted to come up with a plan that would allow Victor more freedom, even if it was only to appease his own, probably irrational fears.

Yuuri reached down and tugged at Chris’s waistband, more to declare his intentions than to actually remove the garments himself. He had to move out of the way so Chris could slide his pants down his long, shapely legs, and Yuuri took that brief opportunity to give Victor a silent reassuring look and a gentle touch on his shoulder.

“Gorgeous,” Yuuri said reverently, getting on his hands and knees to crawl back to Chris. He fell onto his belly between Chris’s legs, and rubbed his cheek against the thick, muscled thigh. Chris must’ve waxed his legs for competition, or perhaps just for himself, as his skin was silky smooth against Yuuri’s face.

Victor hadn’t been exaggerating much when teasing Yuuri about Chris’s cock. Chris had left on his tiny purple underwear, but the thin strip of fabric did little to conceal the pulsing monster underneath. His cock was thick and dark with a gentle curve to it, and a naturally shiny head poking out above the waistband. It wasn’t as huge as Yuuri had feared, but he _did_ wonder if such a thing could fit in his mouth, even a quarter of the way. Despite his relative inexperience, Yuuri wanted to find out.

The first thing Yuuri noticed as he pushed aside the fabric was that Chris had a different smell than Victor. Still masculine, still musky in a way that made Yuuri’s cock twitch, but different. His balls were different, too, hanging lower and spreading out more than Victor’s.

Chris’s breath trembled as Yuuri finally grasped his pulsing member, and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. For all of Chris’s experience, his body still yearned for pleasure like Yuuri’s, still responded and came undone at the right touch. Oh, Yuuri wanted to hear Chris’s cries, to see his face twisted in ecstasy. He wanted to see this powerful man torn apart by pleasure.

But Yuuri didn’t have confidence he could do it, not by himself. Still, he took his time, exploring Chris’s groin with his tongue, relishing in every moan Chris let escape.

“You’re a tease, aren’t you?” Chris breathed.

“When I want to be,” Yuuri said. Without warning, he put his mouth on the end of Chris’s cock, and sucked hard, making Chris yelp. Yuuri relaxed his throat, opened wider, and slid his mouth as far down the length as he dared.

He got maybe halfway before having to pull up. It wasn’t due to the length, though—Yuuri’s throat simply wasn’t used to having something so thick down there, and he was afraid of losing control of his gag reflex. It was still a sensual experience, especially with the way Chris shifted and relaxed with a long moan. Yuuri decided to go as long as he could, pushing himself a little farther each time.

But in the end his jaw ached, and he hadn’t made much progress. “I’m admitting defeat,” he said, panting. “He might not be worth much, but he can offer better services than I can in this area.”

“You’ve done beautifully,” Chris said with affection, cupping Yuuri’s face. “But I won’t say no if you want to release him.”

Yuuri stiffly rose and went to Victor, reaching out his hand to stroke back his hair back from his sweaty face. “Do you want this?” Yuuri asked sweetly. Victor bowed his head, lowering his eyes. Yuuri reached behind his head and undid the clasp for his gag. Victor moved his jaw experimentally, and licked saliva off his lips. Yuuri couldn’t help but steal a kiss, making it tender to reassure them both that everything was still okay. Victor responded in kind, his tongue warm and soft and familiar as it danced with Yuuri’s. Could Victor taste Chris through him? Yuuri wondered.

“I think you know how to do this part,” Chris said, patting the bed between his legs.

With his wrists still tied behind his back, Victor crawled on his knees to Chris, his eyes giving away just how eager he was. But Yuuri was feeling a little Victor-starved after that kiss, so he positioned himself behind Victor and reached around to undo his pants. Victor shuddered as Yuuri ran his fingers along his lengthy bulge, though Yuuri found it surprisingly silky.

Chris gave a low chuckle. “I see you’ve got a surprise of your own, Victor.”

Curious, Yuuri tugged at the waistband of Victor’s pants, and found his taut ass clad in black lace and silk. “You’ve been wearing this since before dinner?”

Victor nodded.

“Oho, I thought this was something he put on before I got here,” Chris said. “Such a pervert, to go out in public wearing this.”

It was suddenly too much for Yuuri to handle. He broke his cool demeanor and desperately clutched at Victor’s pants and pulled hard.

“Ah!” Victor pitched forward into Chris, who caught him as Yuuri tore off Victor’s pants.

“Oh god…” Yuuri threw the pants aside and found that Victor wasn’t just wearing panties. “Oh my god.”

“I think you broke him, Victor,” Chris said with a laugh.

Yuuri put his hands to his mouth, eyes trying to etch the sight before him into his mind. Victor’s shapely, muscled legs were clad in dark silk pantyhose all the way up to his thighs, where lacy elastic held the stockings up. The panties—which matched well enough that Yuuri suspected they were a set—weren’t normal panties at all. The backside had a heart-shaped cutout in the center, offering easy access that Yuuri would absolutely be taking advantage of. He wouldn’t be surprised if the front side offered easier access, as well.

Yuuri practically melted into a puddle at Victor’s legs, falling into a limbless heap on the bed. Victor started to laugh.

“Did you know he would do this?” Chris asked Victor.

“No, but I had a hunch he would appreciate it.”

Yuuri ran his fingertips along Victor’s calves, intent on memorizing the shape and feel of them. “You two can continue, I’ll be fine back here.”

The mood completely changed after that, but Yuuri didn’t regret anything—it would’ve been unfair to expect him to maintain control after being presented with such a glorious gift. Yuuri didn’t have a stocking kink in particular, nor a lingerie kink in general, but he _did_ have an insatiable Victor fetish that was happy to see Victor in anything new or unexpected.

Chris untied Victor’s wrists, whispering something to him that Yuuri couldn’t make out, and got to his knees. Victor repositioned himself on all fours—knees splayed to accommodate Yuuri laying between them—and started to service Chris’s thick cock in a way that looked effortless.

Yuuri was envious. Victor could take Chris all the way to the base, and even let Chris fuck his mouth a little. Chris seemed to know just how deep and fast he could go without hurting Victor, and the two of them worked up a steady rhythm, Chris’s fingers weaving through Victor’s hair. Chris’s deep grunts began to turn into moans, and Yuuri closed his eyes to bathe in the sounds of their pleasure. He had to fight the urge to touch himself, his cock pulsing hard in his pants. The best part was yet to come, and he needed to save himself.

Still, Yuuri shed the rest of his clothes while he listened to his lover get thoroughly used, just to help himself cool off. Chris muttered something in French, and Yuuri took it to be some sort of warning, as he turned around just in time to see Chris’s face contorted with ecstasy as he thrust deep into Victor’s throat. Victor whimpered and trembled as Chris gave a few slow, final pumps, his cum lewdly dripping out of Victor’s mouth.

Chris fell into the pillows, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Ah… _mon dieu..._ I missed that.”

Victor sat back on his knees, his eyes watered from the effort. He looked so thoroughly wrecked that Yuuri felt a pull in his heart, wanting to take care of him. Yuuri reached out and used his thumb to wipe a shiny drop of cum off the corner of Victor’s mouth. Victor’s lips parted, expecting to lick it off, but Yuuri brought his thumb to his own mouth to taste.

“Come here,” Yuuri said.

Victor turned, and as soon as he was in range, Yuuri pulled him into a kiss, holding nothing back. He could taste the salty bitterness of Chris on his lover’s tongue as he cupped his face, using his thumbs to tenderly massage Victor’s jaw.

“You two are too sweet,” Chris said. “I feel like I should go clean up and let you have at it.”

Yuuri broke the kiss, but stayed close to Victor, his hands still working. “No, please stay. I’d prefer it if you watched.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. Yuuri raised one back.

“Give us an audience,” Victor said, his voice quiet and rough.

“I won’t make you stay if you don’t want to, obviously,” Yuuri said.

“Well, I can’t refuse an invitation like that, can I?” Chris folded his legs and put his hands behind his head, making himself comfortable. “Are you looking for suggestions? Or should I keep my mouth shut?”

“I don’t need suggestions, but feel free to comment if you like what you see,” Yuuri said. “Mostly, though, I want your eyes.”

Chris lowered his lashes, giving Yuuri a suggestive smile. “You have them.”

Yuuri felt a small pang of guilt for not using anything else out of Chris’s bag, but for how he wanted to conclude this session, he wouldn’t need anything else. Yuuri guided Victor towards the center of the bed, pulling him a little farther away from Chris to give them space, and pulled Victor’s body up against him as they kissed again. Yuuri put questions into that kiss, trying to gauge Victor’s current state and what he might want, but it was hard to interpret any answers, aside from the fact that he was clearly enjoying Yuuri.

Yuuri pulled back to look him in the eyes, and all he could see was a bright, eager blue. That was enough for Yuuri to feel like he could go forward, and he slid his hand down Victor’s back, stopping briefly to admire the silky fabric against his fingertips.

“You’ll wear this again for me, won’t you?” Yuuri asked.

“Of course,” Victor murmured, putting his lips to Yuuri’s shoulder. “I’ll wear whatever you want.”

Yuuri brought his hand up to his mouth, coated two fingers in his saliva, and slid them between Victor’s exposed cheeks. He massaged Victor’s hole before inserting his middle finger, and Victor gasped at the intrusion. There was little resistance, however, and Yuuri didn’t take long before trying to insert the other one. The inside was already soft and lubricated.

“Did you prepare yourself beforehand?” Yuuri asked.

 Victor nodded. “Should I not have?”

“I don’t mind,” Yuuri said, working his fingers in a scissoring motion. Even though it had been hours, the muscles were still fairly relaxed. “If it helps you enjoy this more, I’m all for it.”

“Victor always prepared himself for me,” Chris said. “I don’t think he trusted me to do it.”

“As rough as you were with that monster cock of yours, I needed all the preparation I could get,” Victor breathed out with a laugh.

Chris smirked. “Don’t try to pretend you didn’t like it.”

“Of course I did.” Victor groaned as Yuuri probed deeper. “But I like Yuuri more.”

Chris chuckled. “Well, that much is obvious. You would’ve never worn anything like that for me.”

Yuuri pulled back. “You wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t in the habit of making an effort for Chris,” Victor admitted. “I was fairly selfish when it came to our encounters.”

“We both had one thing we wanted from each other, and beyond that, we didn’t try very hard,” Chris said.

Yuuri fingered Victor’s lacy waistband. “Do you… actually like these, then?”

“I like them well enough, but I love wearing them for you.” Victor ducked his head. “I think your reactions to my wearing your costumes have given me something of a complex.”

Yuuri cupped Victor’s chin with his clean hand, tilting his head back up. “So you want to be taken down, yet worshipped at the same time?”

Victor smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t say it necessarily made sense.”

“Sounds like two lovers might be your ideal,” Chris said.

“Or someone who can do both,” Victor said with a meaningful look at Yuuri.

Yuuri lowered his lashes and snaked his hand back around Victor, probing with his fingers intently.

“Mnn…” Victor fell forward, resting some of his weight on Yuuri as he submitted to his fingers.

Yuuri reached for the lube and condoms, which Chris handed to him helpfully, though Yuuri couldn’t hold both with one hand, and ended up dropping both. The little foil wrappers spilled over the sheets, and Yuuri snagged one and held it up to Victor’s mouth. “Bite,” he said.

Victor bit, and Yuuri tore the wrapper open.

Yuuri reclaimed his other hand and pulled away to suit up. Despite the relatively calm air in the room, Yuuri’s body screamed for this. He had to fight to keep his hands steady, but Victor and Chris were watching so intently that he doubted he’d fooled anyone. It didn’t matter. Yuuri straightened his legs and guided Victor to straddle him, then started applying a liberal amount of lube to his cock.

“Oh, now this is unexpected,” Chris said with interest.

Yuuri knew. It was probably unexpected for Victor, too, but that was precisely why Yuuri had chosen this position. Still, he looked to Victor’s face for any hesitation. He was happy to find only eagerness there.

“You’re not too sore, are you?” Yuuri asked, lightly touching the patch of exposed skin on Victor’s thigh.

“Not for this,” Victor said in a low voice. “Not for you.”

Making a mental note to offer Victor’s legs a proper massage later, Yuuri coated his fingers in lube again and pushed them back up into Victor’s ass.

When they were finally ready, Yuuri laid back as Victor brought himself into position.

“Do those open up?” Yuuri asked, nodding towards Victor’s panties. There was a ribbon tied in a bow on one side, and Victor tugged on one of the ends. The silky flap fell, revealing a delicate lacy mesh that wrapped around Victor’s shaft, his head protruding out of a hole in the top. Victor tucked the ribbon into his waistband on the other side, keeping the flap out of the way.

“Aren’t those fancy,” Chris remarked. “I’ve never seen panties quite like that before.”

Yuuri spent a moment reverently touching the fabric, admiring the detail work that allowed such a garment to be functional. The lace mesh could be pushed down for more skin access, but Yuuri rather liked how it wrapped around Victor’s dick like a little coat. Limited ball access, but these probably weren’t built for extensive play in that manner.

“You’re beautiful, Victor,” Yuuri told him.

Victor squeezed his eyes shut as he lowered himself onto Yuuri’s dick. Slowly, slowly he slid downwards, until Yuuri felt the softness of Victor’s ass touch his hips. There was immense power and control in Victor’s thighs as he slowly rose and lowered himself again, and a groan escaped Yuuri’s throat. Despite all the loosening Victor was _so tight_ around him, and Yuuri had to hold back the urge to thrust up to chase that beautiful pleasure.

Yuuri breathed through it, knowing that if he let himself get worked up now, it would be over too fast. Victor was clearly enjoying himself, his eyes closed and his head tilted back as he began a soft, slow rhythm, moving continuously like gentle ocean waves. How could anyone _move_ like that? How could anyone be so graceful during sex?

If it were happening to anyone other than him, Yuuri might’ve called it unfair.

Victor kept up his rhythm for several long minutes, back and forth, up and down, wave after wave of continuous, rolling pleasure making Yuuri’s body shudder. Yuuri reached up and found Victor’s hands, lacing their fingers together just to add another point of connection between them. Victor looked down with a heavy-lidded gaze, his sweat-stained hair falling in front of his eyes. There was love there, plain as day, and Yuuri hoped his own eyes conveyed the same.

Victor threw his head back with a long moan, and started to go faster. A clear, shining bead of precum dotted the end of his lace-clad dick, and Yuuri terribly wished he could lick it off. Instead he watched it fall with a viscous string down to his stomach, like a tiny blessing from the divine.

Yuuri felt the bed shift, and he was suddenly reminded that Chris was there, his eyes watching Victor intently. _Yes, that’s right,_ Yuuri’s mind said. _He’s doing this entirely for me, and I’m letting you watch._

The awareness of Chris’s gaze sent a fresh surge of arousal into Yuuri’s body, and he squeezed Victor’s hands as he pressed his head into the mattress with a groan. Yuuri was losing himself to the pleasure, and he knew there wasn’t much time left. He wished he could savor this feeling forever, but his primal needs screamed for _more, more._

Victor squeezed back, then let go, falling forward onto his hands as a few beads of sweat dripped onto Yuuri’s chest. Victor panted with hot breath, and more drops of precum leaked out of him. Yuuri knew his cue without even asking. He repositioned his legs, grasped Victor’s hips, and thrust upward with all the strength he could muster. Victor cried out in ecstasy, prompting Yuuri to do it again, then again and again. Despite the warning signs, it was still something of a surprise when Victor came with a loud cry, massive white spurts painting Yuuri’s chest. The beautiful sight of it drove Yuuri into a frenzy, and he chased his own orgasm so forcefully that he saw stars. His throat choked out a sob as wave after wave pulsed through his body, and when he returned to himself, he saw he’d left red welts where he’d grabbed onto Victor’s hips.

Victor gasped as he pulled up from Yuuri, and collapsed into a heap at Yuuri’s side.

Chris whistled. “That was beautiful. You almost made me ready for round two.”

Victor had his head buried in Yuuri’s shoulder, but apparently had enough strength to hold up his middle finger to Chris.

Chris chuckled. “Not as much stamina as we used to have, huh?”

Yuuri’s arm was pinned beneath Victor’s body, and he gave his lover a squeeze. “Are you doing alright?” he asked quietly.

“Perfect,” Victor panted, his forehead still against Yuuri’s shoulder as he fought to return his breathing to normal. His body was sweaty and stiflingly hot, but Yuuri had neither the desire nor strength to pull away.

Chris brought over a box of tissues and began to wipe Victor’s mess off Yuuri’s chest. “When you invited me up tonight, I can’t say I expected an experience quite like this. You made me feel quite dirty, watching such an intimate moment like that.”

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered closed as Chris’s hands gently cleaned him. “Do you regret it?”

“Not at all,” Chris said. “Though now I know what Victor looks when he’s making love, and the difference is… sobering, to say the least.”

“Making love, as opposed to…?”

“Getting fucked,” Victor answered for him. “Are you disappointed, Chris?”

Yuuri opened his eyes just in time to see Chris’s frown before he hid it behind a smile. “How could I be disappointed? You know I’m happy for you. You and I simply weren’t right for each other, and the more I see you with Yuuri, the more apparent that becomes. It’s clear he has an instinct to care for you that I never had, and you needed it more than I realized.”

“You never left me wanting,” Victor said. “I didn’t know I needed it until it was given to me freely.”

“I also didn’t inspire you,” Chris said. “I was a scratch to your itch, not a salve. Regardless, I’m glad you two found each other. Your love is so obvious that I can’t help but feel moved by it.”

Yuuri slowly sat up, gently freeing his arm from beneath Victor. “Thank you, Chris. If no one minds, I’m going to take a shower. Feel free to stay.” He had a feeling that Chris and Victor had more to talk about, and while Yuuri wanted to listen, it felt like a conversation best kept between them.

Victor gave Yuuri a concerned look, but Yuuri reassured him with a smile. “I’ll just be a few minutes. You got me all dirty.”

Before Yuuri even closed the door of the bathroom, he heard soft murmurings in French and Victor’s gentle, tired laugh.

He wasn’t trying to linger in the shower, but he started to lose track of time as he rubbed soap on his body, replaying the evening in his head. It had gone well, hadn’t it? He hadn’t done anything obviously wrong, had he?

After that beautiful finale, Yuuri almost didn’t care if he messed anything up. Victor’s capacity for surprising Yuuri seemed to grow rather than shrink the more time they spent together, and Yuuri felt like a slacker for not doing more to please him. That lingerie in particular deserved something special in return. Even if Victor was satisfied, Yuuri could do better—he _would_ do better, next time.

When Yuuri finally emerged from the bathroom, Victor was sound asleep against the pillows, the blanket already drawn up to his shoulders. Chris was awake, sitting on the bed and buttoning up his wrinkled shirt.

“You’re leaving?” Yuuri asked.

“I have a phone call to make, and I don’t want to disturb the sleeping beauty,” Chris said quietly, smiling fondly at Victor. He stood to meet Yuuri in the hallway outside the bathroom.

“You could come back, if you like,” Yuuri said.

Chris’s smile wavered, turning somewhat sad. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I will. I intend to fall asleep listening to my fiancé tell me about how wonderful my skating was and how angry he is at himself for not being here.”

Yuuri breathed a laugh. “That’s fair.”

“Don’t think for a moment that I regret this, though,” Chris said. He reached out and brushed his knuckles against Yuuri’s cheek. “You two are beautiful, and I felt blessed to be your audience. You, especially, are not what I expected when Victor introduced me to you. You perform very well without looking like you’re trying too hard. A natural, like he said.”

Yuuri looked aside shyly. “It’s only for Victor that I could do something like this.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Chris said. “Victor can bring out interesting sides of people, sometimes. But that exhibition kink is all yours, isn’t it?”

Yuuri flushed. “Probably. It’s still new to me, but I can easily trace it back to before Victor.”

“I’m glad you thought of me to help you indulge you,” Chris said. “And if you ever find yourself needing advice, be sure to get my number from Victor. I can help you find ways to scratch that itch without giving yourself stage fright.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you,” Yuuri said, ducking his head.

Chris cupped Yuuri’s chin and pulled up until they were of a level gaze. “Be good to him, Yuuri. It’s always been difficult for me to trust him in the hands of others, but after tonight, I feel I can safely trust him with you.”

“I’m grateful for the approval,” Yuuri said, smiling sheepishly. “And thank you for being his friend. Even if he has me, it’s clear that he still needs you.”

“He won’t be rid of me so easily,” Chris said with a grin. He leaned forward and gave Yuuri a kiss on both cheeks. “ _Au revoir et bon voyage,_ Yuuri. We’ll see each other again, sooner rather than later, I hope.”

“Absolutely. At the Grand Prix Final.”

Chris chuckled. “If we both make it. Take care, Yuuri. Safe flight home.”

“You too,” Yuuri said, and eased the door shut as Chris left.

Yuuri went back to the bed to settle in, and saw that Chris’s black bag was tucked beneath the night table. Picking up Victor’s phone, Yuuri found Chris’s number in the emergency contacts, and sent him a text from his own phone.

_Hey, it’s Yuuri. You left your bag here._

Chris responded after just a minute.

_Keep them. I never used any of those without Victor.  
I’m sure you two can find some unique ways to have fun with them._

Yuuri smiled and tucked the bag away. Victor turned over groggily, resting his head on Yuuri’s robe-covered thigh. “Did Chris leave?”

“Just now,” Yuuri said, stroking back Victor’s hair. “You’ve had a tiring day, haven’t you?”

“The best day,” Victor said with a smile. “You smell nice.”

“ _You_ smell like sex,” Yuuri said. “But in a good way. You can shower in the morning.”

“I don’t want to think about morning,” Victor groaned. “Morning is when we leave.”

“I know,” Yuuri said, his hand still petting Victor’s silky hair. “But we’ll see each other again soon. I’m going to Tokyo with you, remember?”

Victor opened his eyes. “You are?”

“I said I would, didn’t I? I’m a little worried about work, but I think I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t take every opportunity I could to see your final competitive year. I’ll be there, if you want me.”

Victor closed his eyes again, nuzzling Yuuri’s leg. “Of course I want you there. I want you beside me always.”

“And I want to be there,” Yuuri said softly.

Victor drifted back to sleep, but it was a little while before Yuuri joined him. He knew he couldn’t sleep just yet, not when his mind still swirled with thoughts of their evening, and to make matters worse, he could feel worry creeping in the more he thought about what would happen after he woke up.

Their time spent together had been a rollercoaster for Yuuri’s heart, to say the least, and now that things seemed to have settled, they would have to part again. Yuuri couldn’t imagine, couldn’t let himself think of the pain he would feel when they were separated again. Would he go numb? Would he have to fight the fog again, the next time he saw Victor? How much strength would it take to keep doing this?

Yuuri knew he didn’t have a choice. His heart would do what it wanted. It would hurt him, it would numb him, it would overwhelm him—but it all wouldn’t matter, because Victor would be there to make sure he didn’t fall too far.

But that wasn’t fair to Victor. Victor needed to focus on his skating, not Yuuri. Yuuri needed to be a better partner. Victor needed the support right now, not him.

Yuuri looked down to Victor’s gentle sleeping face, and couldn’t help but smile.

For Victor. He would be strong for Victor.

He had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been over two months now, and I've finally finished this section. My original intention was to do one full chapter to conclude Skate Canada, but the chapter just kept growing and growing with all I wanted to fit into it, so it ended up as two lengthy chapters. These were difficult for me to write for several reasons, not least of which was Yuuri's battle with his emotional instabilities. But I had some real life things happen that got me out of my writing groove, so I can't chalk up the entire thing to the difficulty of the subject. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting so long!
> 
> So we finally know Victor's free skate... I hope you're not disappointed, it's one of my favorite songs. I'll write more in the future about why, in this story, Victor chose it. (If you don't happen to know it, it's called Somebody to Love by Queen)
> 
> I watched a lot of figure skating during the Olympics to give myself a better feel for the sport, though I still don't have much confidence in my ability to describe any technical details. I did, however, reference two real-life skaters for the first time, one of which actually exists in YoIverse, but I'm refusing to name them in the text out of respect. It shouldn't be hard to figure out who they are, though. (I've turned into a pretty big fan ;;; )
> 
> I've noticed a few more readers since last time, and I thank you so much for taking a chance on my fic. I'm really glad you all seem to be enjoying it, and your comments and kudos helped spur me on to finish this. I wish I could reply to everyone, but it takes a lot of mental energy for me to leave messages, so I've gotten out of the habit. But I do read every one, and every time I see the email with one, my chest goes all fluttery. I really do appreciate all of them, no matter how short or long.
> 
> I'm going to do my best to write a bit faster going forward (and probably going to return to more reasonably-sized updates) so that you won't have to wait as long. The end is still a bit far away, but there's some neat stuff coming up I hope you'll like. Thank you for reading as always!


	27. Chapter 27

Victor should have been used to hearing that knock at the door to his apartment, but it was still a strange concept to him that he had regular visitors.

Well, at least one in particular.        

Yuri frowned at him as he opened the door, green eyes pleading. “Do you have any food here?” He lifted his nose. “Is that stew I smell?”

“Lilia not feeding you again?” Victor asked as he swung the door open.

“She thinks I ate too much before Rostelecom and it threw me off balance. I haven’t gained a gram, but she won’t listen. There’s nothing but cabbage at home.” Yuri tore off his coat and plopped into his usual spot on the couch. “What are you doing?”

“A project,” Victor said. “I don’t have a lot of time left.”

“Are they all pictures of you?” Yuri asked, picking one up. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you _scrapbooking?_ ”

“Something like it,” Victor said thoughtfully. He still hadn’t decided how he wanted to arrange the photos. Chronologically would probably still be best, but… “If you’re looking to avoid cabbage, I’m sorry to say that my stew has cabbage in it.”

“Whatever,” Yuri said. “I’m just looking for meat or bread.”

“Well, I have both. Lilia ban you from the bakery?”

“Until after the GPF,” Yuri said. “She says she has spies watching, and she’ll know if I went. It sounds stupid, but because it’s Lilia I don’t know if she’s bluffing or not.”

Victor laughed. “Best not to risk it, then.”

Yuri leaned forward. “Seriously, though, what _is_ all this? You can’t be doing this for no reason.”

“I have a very good reason, in fact,” Victor said. “It’s his birthday soon.”

“Whose? Not Yakov’s.” Yuri blinked slowly as he pieced it together. “Oh. Your boyfriend?”

“Yes.” Victor looked at his piles of photos. The ones from his childhood were rarer—while it made sense to put them first, Victor wanted Yuuri wanted to be surprised by them. Putting them after all his skating photos might be better.

“Why are you giving him an album full of your pictures? Can’t you afford something… I dunno, nicer?”

“He’s my fan,” Victor said. “I think these would mean a lot to him. His friend gave me the idea when I was asking for suggestions, because I honestly don’t know what Yuuri wants. He’s not the most comfortable when I throw my money around.”

“Didn’t your costumes cost a ton, though?”

“Only because I asked for them to,” Victor said. He put a hand to his chin, trying to order the first group of photos from his Junior World Championships debut. He honestly couldn’t remember when half of the photos were taken. “He accepts payment for work, but a lavish gift wouldn’t go over as well, I don’t think.”

“I see.” Yuri’s stomach audibly growled.

Victor smiled at him. “Want to eat now?”

“Only if it’s ready,” he muttered, cheeks flushed.

Victor pulled out his phone to check the time. “It should be. It’s been over an hour since—oh.” His phone started vibrating in his hand. “Speak of the… I should probably take this. Grab one of the ceramic bowls in the cupboard and help yourself. I’ll get the bread afterward.”

Yuri scowled up at him, but got up and did as he was told. Victor went back into his bedroom and shut the door before hitting accept. “Hello?”

_“Victor, I need to ask a favor, but I know you’re not going to like it.”_ Phichit’s voice sounded strained with worry.

“Phichit, what’s wrong?”

He sighed. _“I need you to convince Yuuri not to get on that flight to Tokyo. Please.”_

Victor’s throat tightened. “Why? What happened?”

_“He’s… Well, he’s sick. And super angry about it. He’s had a fever the past couple of days that I didn’t know about until he nearly fainted last night, and today it’s only gotten worse. I had to practically wrestle him to bed so he’d stop trying to work. He’s convinced himself that he’s going to be fine by the time he needs to fly out, but I don’t think he’ll get better by tomorrow night.”_

Victor swallowed, trying to keep sadness from his voice. “How—how bad is it? Is he going to be alright?”

_“I don’t know how bad it is, but he’s got some drugs in him and he’s sleeping now. His fever only just started to go down, and I’m pretty convinced it was only getting worse because he tried to get ahead of his work. He really needs to rest. I’m not only afraid for his health, though—I feel myself coming down with something, and I think it would be awful if he got you sick, too.”_

Victor flashed back to one of his competitions, many years ago, where he pushed himself to skate through a fever and couldn’t get out of bed for days afterward. He shuddered. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be the best outcome.”

_“So do you think you can convince him to stay in bed for a few more days? I know you’ll probably hate it, but he’s not listening to me anymore.”_

“I—yeah, I’ll do my best. You can send me a text when he’s awake, and I’ll call him.”

_“I’m really sorry about this, Victor. I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t desperate. I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid like go to the airport on his own. Do you think you could cancel his flight?”_

Victor frowned. “I don’t think I can—I put everything in his name.”

_“Well, it was just a thought.”_

“What kind of sick is he? Is it a cold, or the flu?”

_“I can’t say for sure yet. It doesn’t feel like the flu, but his fever worries me. Like I said, though, he probably just made it worse by trying to work through it.”_

“Yeah…” Victor pushed his hair out of his face. “Well, I guess I should thank you for letting me know. I had no idea he wasn’t feeling well.”

_“He’s been trying really hard to hide it from you. He tried to get me to promise not to tell you, but I dodged the hell out of that promise. I think you’re the only one he’ll listen to.”_

“Don’t worry, Phichit—I’ll talk to him soon. Can I trust you to look after him for me?”

_“Of course—you don’t even have to ask. I’m sorry it had to turn out this way, though. I know you were both looking forward to Tokyo.”_

“His health is far more important,” Victor said. “I just hope he gets better before the GPF.”

_“I’ll do my best to keep him in bed. Did you see Guang-Hong qualified already?”_

“I did. Will I be seeing you in Paris, then?”

_“Absolutely! I can’t wait—I’ve never been to Paris before.”_

“I’m not sure how much time you’ve planned for sightseeing, but I get the feeling you’ll love it,” Victor told him.

_“I hope so. Anyway, I should probably go back up and check on Yuuri. I’ll text you when he wakes up.”_

“Please do. And take care of yourself, too, especially if you’ve gotten sick.”

_“Yeah. Thanks, Victor. I’ll keep in touch.”_ Phichit ended the call.

Victor took a moment to collect himself before leaving his bedroom. He’d need to process all of this later, when he didn’t have company to worry about.

Unfortunately, Yuri wasn’t fooled. “What happened?” He had his bowl of stew where he stood at the kitchen counter, a spoonful held aloft to cool.

“Nothing,” Victor said dismissively. “Just a call from a friend.”

“Uh huh. And that look on your face means something happened.” Yuri stuck his spoon in his mouth, talking around the food. “Quit trying to hide everything for no reason.”

Victor sighed, and put his foil-wrapped loaf of bread in the oven to heat up. “Yuuri’s sick, and probably can’t make it to Tokyo. I’ve been tasked with convincing him to stay in Detroit.”

“If he’s sick, why do you have to convince him?”

“Because he’s stubborn. And I…” Victor hesitated, but decided not to dodge the truth. “He was originally only going to come to Skate Canada, because he has a lot of work to do around this time of year. But, like an idiot, I begged him to come to my other competitions.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I was selfish and wanted him there.” Victor leaned heavily on the kitchen counter. “And I’m sure that he was working himself too hard to catch up on his work so he could take the time off, and that probably only made his illness worse.”

Yuri put more food in his mouth before talking, his words mumbled around the stew. “But it’s not such a big deal, is it? Just tell him not to come.”

Victor handed Yuri a napkin to clean up the spittle that fell out of his mouth. “He’s going to think he’s failing me by not coming. And if I do badly in competition, he’ll blame himself.”

Yuri grinned. “So don’t suck.”

Victor glared at him and mussed his hair, making Yuri cry out in protest. “Such poor manners coming from someone who only came to steal my food.”

“Is that bread ready yet?”

“Tch.” Victor ladled some stew into his own bowl. “You’re lucky I’m not throwing you out by your scruff like a puppy.”

“What are you talking about? You wouldn’t throw out a puppy.”

Well, he had a point. “I might throw out a kitten,” Victor muttered, blowing on a bite of his stew to taste it. It wasn’t bad.

“In any case,” Yuri went on, “I don’t think it’s worth all this fuss. Just tell him not to come.”

Victor rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “You’re probably right.”

Yuri looked down into his bowl. It was already half empty. “For what it’s worth, though, I’m sorry he’s sick. I was looking forward to making fun of his dorky hair in person.”

Victor snorted. “I’d think twice about trying to bully him. He has a sharper tongue than you think.”

“Him? No fucking way. He looks like a complete pushover.”

With a knowing smile on his face, Victor picked up Yuri’s bowl and refilled it. “Let’s take this to the table and make it a proper meal.”

Yuri left not long after eating, though Victor expected nothing else. While they’d certainly grown closer in recent months, there was still an air of uncertainty between them. Yuri imposed himself on Victor only when he could demand something—not because he was particularly selfish, Victor noticed, but because he could only spend time with Victor if he could somehow justify it to himself. Food, skating advice, homework help—whatever excuse he could come up with to insert himself in Victor’s life.

If he had an agenda, Victor didn’t yet know what it was. He had trouble believing Yuri wanted him simply as a friend or mentor, but he also didn’t sense any sinister motivations behind those glaring green eyes. If anything, he felt as though Yuri might be genuinely concerned, but the younger skater hid it well. He never liked to expose himself as being particularly kind.

Victor sat down, full and warm after eating, and returned to his project. Or tried to, anyway. He couldn’t take much joy in doing it while he had that phone call looming over his head. Victor put down the photos and crossed his arms, sinking back into the couch with a sigh.

Could he even do it? Could he deny Yuuri anything? Would Yuuri even listen, or would he insist that he was fine?

Somehow, this felt like a test of their relationship. A small one, and not the hardest one they’d endured yet, but a test nevertheless. Would Victor pass? Or would he roll over and let Yuuri have his way?

It was hours later that Phichit finally sent the text that Yuuri was awake, and while Victor had been waiting on edge all that time, he still hesitated to call. He needed to get it over with, but he was afraid of the outcome. He was afraid of being weak.

Victor’s thumb trembled on the screen, but he pressed the call button. It rang for four long rings, Victor’s lips silently reciting his opening lines.

It clicked. Victor inhaled, words on his tongue, until an automated voice instructed him to leave a voicemail.

Victor looked at his phone with a frown, and tried again.

Two rings, and the voice came back. Once more, and the call didn’t even get through a full ring before he was sent to voicemail.

His calls were being rejected.

Victor decided to text Phichit.

Victor: _Does he have his phone on?  
_ Phichit: _it’s in his hands. is he not picking up?_

“Yuuri…” Victor groaned. He gave him one more chance, and he got three full rings in before he got rejected again. Victor put his phone down. In every version of this scenario he’d imagined, he hadn’t accounted for Yuuri refusing to speak with him at all.

Even knowing the reason, Victor’s chest ached to think that Yuuri didn’t want to talk to him at all. It was actually _painful,_ and Victor laughed at himself helplessly. Once upon a time, _he’d_ been the one to reject calls, and at the time he’d felt little remorse about it. When had he gotten so clingy? Was Yuuri just that special?

Victor knew the answer without even thinking about it.

Victor’s phone buzzed, and he snatched it up quickly, only to droop when he saw it was a text from Phichit.

Phichit: _I’m yelling at him to call you back, but he just holed up in the bathroom  
_ Phichit: _give him another five minutes_

Victor put down his phone and tried to focus on the pictures in front of him, though he was starting to lose confidence. Would Yuuri even like something like this? Was Victor being too narcissistic to think his boyfriend would appreciate getting pictures of him for his birthday? They weren’t nearly as special as the pictures Yuuri had been sending him—those lovely, teasing pictures that only someone like Phichit could convince Yuuri to take, that Yuuri so generously sent to his phone almost every day they were apart. The one he’d sent the day before they left for Skate Canada had been Victor’s latest favorite:  a candid shot of Yuuri laying on his stomach, reading the book that Victor had recommended to him. There wasn’t much particularly sexy about it—aside from perhaps the way Yuuri’s t-shirt had ridden up to expose his lower back—but it gave Victor such a strong emotional response that he couldn’t help but look at it several times a day while they were apart. Yuuri had looked so relaxed and at home as he read one of Victor’s favorite books, and even if it happened to be staged (Phichit assured him it wasn’t, beyond a few framing tweaks) it sparked Victor’s imagination enough that it didn’t matter. He wanted to be there, to see that side of Yuuri every day.

If Victor was presented with the opportunity to skip the rest of his competitions and jump to the point where he was living with Yuuri, he wasn’t sure he’d say no. He’d only done one competition, and fatigue already weighed on him heavily. It was becoming more and more difficult to push himself to practice every day, and it didn’t bode well for the rest of the season, if he were entirely honest with himself.

But Victor couldn’t be honest with himself. Dwelling on his weaknesses was the fastest way to failure, at least where his skating was concerned. Better to continue as he was, thinking everything would turn out well.  

Victor’s phone started ringing, pulling him out of his thoughts so quickly it gave him whiplash. Oh right. He had to talk to Yuuri.

Victor let it ring a few extra times, just on principle, but eventually answered. “Hello?”

“ _Victor… You—you called?”_ He sounded hesitant. Even after just a few words, Victor could tell Yuuri’s voice was off.

“How are you feeling?” Victor decided to start nicely, even though he was still annoyed at being rejected.

_“Oh, I’m—I’m fine. I just—”_ Yuuri coughed audibly. _“Maybe a little under the weather. But I’m getting better. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”_

“Are you sure? You don’t sound like it.”

_“No, really, I’m fine.”_

“Are you resting? Drinking a lot, eating well?”

_“I—y-yeah. I just woke up, actually. I was still half-asleep before, which was why I rejected your calls. I didn’t have my glasses on and I thought you were a spam caller.”_

Victor sighed heavily, leaning back. “Yuuri, why are you lying to me?”

“ _…What? I’m not, I—”_

“You’ve been working too hard again. Phichit told me.”

Yuuri muttered something under his breath that Victor couldn’t entirely make out, but it sounded very unkind.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Victor said sternly. “Tell me why you’re lying.”

_“Because I’ll be fine.”_ Yuuri coughed again, the rough sound tearing through his throat. _“I’m already feeling better. I slept for almost six hours just now. I should be able to finish everything by tomorrow night.”_

“Six hou—Yuuri, seriously, stop pushing yourself like this. Stay in bed as long as you can.”

_“I’ve already stayed in bed as long as I can stand. I need to work. I need to finish—”_

“You _need_ to rest!” Victor cried desperately. “You don’t need to finish anything until you’re better.”

_“But if I don’t finish my work, then I can’t possibly justify getting on a plane and—”_

“Then don’t come,” Victor said.

Silence stretched, long and bitter. _“…What?”_

“Don’t come,” Victor said again, more a plead than a command. “You need to take care of yourself.”

_“You… you don’t want me to come?”_

“Of course I do! But I want you happy and healthy and not running yourself into the ground to try and get there. There will be other competitions.”

_“But… In Halifax, you said—”_

“I know exactly what I said, and that’s why it’s so hard to say this to you. Don’t come to Tokyo. Don’t get on that plane.”

_“…So, you don’t need me, after all?”_ Yuuri’s voice had gone dull and monotone.

Victor cursed under his breath. “That’s not it and you know it. Of course I need you. But what I need more is for you to get better. I need you to rest.”

_“Why… why can’t you just trust me when I say I’ll get better?”_

Victor released a slow breath. “Because I know you’re being stubborn. And how would it make me feel, do you think, if you pushed yourself so hard you collapsed?”

_“And how would it make_ me _feel if you weren’t skating your best because I couldn’t be there for you?”_

Victor squeezed his eyes shut. “Yuuri, listen to me— _you’re more important than my skating._ Your health is far, far more important. I’m asking you not to come because I’m worried about you. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t want to see you. Of course I want to see you. You know how much it pains me to be away from you. But running yourself ragged through an illness isn’t how I want you to get to me.”

_“You’re not hearing me, Victor—I’ll get better. My work will get done. I’ve still got plenty of time—”_

“And what if you get me sick? How will you feel then?”

_“Victor…”_

Victor could hear the heartbreak in Yuuri’s voice. “Rest, Yuuri. Don’t come. Even if you get on that plane, I’m not going to meet you.”

_“But Victor—”_

Victor couldn’t handle listening to any more. He hung up, threw his phone down on the couch cushion, and pressed his face into his hands. This wasn’t right. Nothing felt right.

Victor couldn’t stand making Yuuri sad. It physically pained him to the point that he felt nauseous, but what could he even do about it? If he called Yuuri back, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to say no to him again.

Victor managed to breathe through his emotions, though he still felt as though he were teetering on the edge of a cliff, just a stiff breeze away from breaking down. He looked at the little piles of pictures in front of him, and felt like shoving the whole project into the floor. Instead, he forced himself to carefully pick them up and put them back in the box he’d been storing them in.

There was a stomping and scraping at his front door, and Victor turned to see Yuri peek his hood-covered head inside. “You didn’t lock it? I think I left something here.”

Victor _really_ didn’t want Yuri to be there right then, but there was no easy way to tell him to go away. He gestured for him to come inside, and stood up to put the box of pictures back on the bookshelf, sliding the empty album beside it.

Yuri started to look around the couch, getting on all fours to check beneath it and digging his hands between the cushions.

“What did you lose?” Victor asked.

“My wallet.”

“Oh.” Victor took a step towards the kitchen. “I’ll help you look.”

Yuri bit his lip and pulled his hand out. “No need. Here it is.” He stood and brushed off his knees. “Glad it was here and not lost in the street.”

“Oh, good.”

Yuri turned and plopped down onto the couch, kicking his feet up now that the coffee table was cleared. “So, did you call your sick boyfriend and tell him off?”

Victor sighed inwardly. Why was Yuri staying? Why couldn’t he just take his wallet and leave? “I—yeah, I did.”

“And he didn’t take it well, I’m guessing?”

“He—no, not really.”

“No wonder you look like my cat when she’s about to be sick. And before you ask, I’m not leaving yet. It’s too cold to walk all that way again.”

“I can drive you,” Victor offered.

“Make me some tea.”

Victor swore under his breath. He debated throwing the brat out, but weighed against sitting in silence waiting for the next phone call, Victor decided he’d rather have something else to focus his mind on. He went to the kitchen, and Yuri eventually followed him.

“What did he say that was so bad?” Yuri leaned against the counter, watching Victor fill his kettle in the sink.

“Nothing,” Victor said. “He was just being stubborn about it. And really, I only have myself to blame. I made it into a big deal, and he took it as his personal responsibility. I shouldn’t have begged him. I shouldn’t have asked him to set aside his work for me, because I’m almost certain that’s what’s gotten him to this point.”

“Your boyfriend sounds dumb,” Yuri said.

“You mean like that time last season you pretended not to be sick for over a week before you pushed yourself so hard you had to be taken to the hospital?”

Yuri examined his fingernails. “I never claimed that was smart.”

Victor rolled his eyes and prepared the teapot while he waited for the kettle to heat.

“Black tea,” Yuri said. “None of that flowery stuff.”

Victor put back the canister of chamomile and reached for the bigger one. “Need the caffeine?”

“No. I just don’t want to smell like that again.”

“Again?”

For some reason, Yuri flushed and turned away. Victor took a wild guess as to where that look could’ve stemmed from.

“How is Otabek doing? Has he qualified this year?”

“We don’t know yet,” Yuri said. His mouth took on a troubled frown. “He’s waiting on the results.”

“Waiting on you and me, you mean?”

“More or less,” Yuri muttered. “If you and I both make it, he probably won’t.”

“So wait—who’s qualified already? I know Guang-Hong and Chris…”

Yuri huffed in disbelief. “Man, you really don’t give a shit anymore, do you? It wasn’t so long ago you’d watch every program and have every rank memorized.”

Victor wanted to argue, but his gut told him that Yuri was right. He _didn’t_ care as much as he once did.

“Guang-Hong, Chris, and Seungil Lee are confirmed already,” Yuri went on. “Those still in the running are me, you, Otabek, and a skater from Japan named Kenjiro Minami. I don’t know that you’ve bothered to meet him yet, but he had really strong programs at Skate America, and he’s the favorite to win in Tokyo.”

Victor couldn’t recall ever meeting him, but the name sounded familiar. “How old is he?”

“Two years older than me,” Yuri spat. “A late-bloomer. No one had even heard of him until this year, and suddenly he’s coming in second. He’s got a huge fanbase in Japan, too. I’m not counting on him failing.”

“So, for Otabek’s sake, you’re hoping I don’t make it,” Victor concluded.

“Fucking—no!” Yuri protested. “I’m hoping that little chicken nugget falls on his ass.”

Victor laughed. “Chicken nugget?”

Yuri shrugged. “He looks like a chicken nugget. But no, I don’t want you to fail. It would be a real dickish thing to hope for when it’s your last season.”

The water hot enough, Victor filled his teapot and glanced at the clock. “I appreciate the support,” he said dryly. “How is Otabek otherwise? Have you two worked out that problem?”

Yuri suddenly had his phone in his hand, looking uninterested in the conversation. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I mean—everything is sort of on hold. He said he’d tell me something the next time we saw each other, and we haven’t seen each other since then. I stopped asking about it, and things have been pretty normal between us, I guess.”

“Did you fix your problem, though? Were you able to focus?”

“I was able to _not_ focus on that _,_ at least,” Yuri said. “But—you saw. Things weren’t the best for me at Rostelecom.”

Victor grimaced. “I’ve been afraid to ask what happened there. Not to say you performed badly, but—”

“It was a bad performance,” Yuri cut in.

“It wasn’t up to your usual standards,” Victor said, more gently. Glancing at the clock again, he pulled out two cups and poured the tea. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing in particular,” Yuri said. It sounded like the truth. “I think it’s because I pushed myself too hard in training the week before, though. I was really tired, mind and body, and it was hard for me to focus my energy when I needed it. Lilia thinks I’ve gotten too complacent and lazy, but I disagree with her entirely. I haven’t been lazy at all.”

“Is this new? Disagreeing with her?”

“Of course not,” Yuri said. “Well—I guess it’s the first time we’ve completely disagreed on what was wrong with me. Usually she’s good at detecting where my problems are, even if I like to fight with her about it, but lately she seems…”

Victor pressed the tea into Yuri’s hands. “She seems…?”

Yuri hesitated. “Distracted. I can tell she hasn’t been watching me as closely as she normally does, and I know that it’s because she’s been worried about Yakov. There are days when I’m training, and I go to ask her about something specific, and she’s sitting back with Yakov rather than watching me.”

Victor picked up his cup and led Yuri back into the living room, sitting down on the couch. “If they’re not being what you need them to be, you should let them know.”

“What? I can’t be that heartless!”

“Yura, you _need_ to be,” Victor said. “This is their job. If they can’t do it well—”

“What do you want me to do, threaten to _fire_ them? I can’t just drop them like that, I can’t—”

“I’m saying you need to _talk_ to them,” Victor said. “I don’t think you’ll have to threaten to fire them, but let them know that you’re not getting what you need. Yakov doesn’t need Lilia to look after him while you’re practicing. She might not even realize she’s distracted.”

Yuri kicked his feet up again. “Ah, I hate this!” he growled. “Why do things have to change? Why do I have to solve problems?”

Victor laughed, and ruffled Yuri’s hair. “You’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” Yuri muttered, sinking farther into the couch.

There was something there, Victor sensed. Something small and dark and hurt hidden in those words, and Victor wasn’t sure he had the strength now to dig it out and shine light on it. He was afraid that, whatever it was, it would hurt him, too, and he wasn’t sure how much more hurt he could stand.

He needed to pull himself together. He was making everything feel more difficult than it needed to be.

“Are you…” Victor began, but hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to open this box now, but it felt necessary, somehow. “Are you still looking for a coach?”

Yuri sighed heavily. “Not as hard as I should be. I’ve gotten it in my head that an opportunity will fall in my lap— _someone_ must want to work with me, right? But then I think, I don’t want just _anyone._ And when I look at everyone on paper they’re either way too good to have time for me or not good enough.”

“What, exactly, are you looking for?” Victor asked.

Yuri frowned and turned away. “If I knew that, I’d be closer to a solution. Don’t worry about it, though. I’ll find someone. I may have to endure a season or two with a second-rate coach, but I’ve been told the experience will be good for me.”

That sounded like one of Yakov’s lines, or perhaps Lilia’s. Definitely not something Yuri felt himself. “You deserve better than a second-rate coach, and you know it.”

“What I _deserve_ isn’t what I’m going to get, though. Can we drop it? I don’t want to think about it right now.”

Yuri was acting oddly vulnerable, letting his insecurities show through his normally guarded personality. It really put into perspective how much closer he and Victor had grown just over the past few months—and, incidentally, how much smaller Victor’s problems were in comparison. Victor’s career was ending, and his whole life was opening up before him, pregnant with possibilities and rich with the promise of happiness ahead. A small disagreement with his lover didn’t change that. But Yuri still had years ahead—over a decade if he was lucky—of treading the same path Victor had taken. A difficult path, to be sure, but if walked carefully was immensely rewarding, full of surprises and soul-affirming accolades. It was a path Victor knew that Yuri was destined to walk, and one he hoped to guide him through with what little advice he could.

But Victor had never changed coaches; Yakov had been there his entire career. Victor wasn’t close enough with any of the other skaters to know their opinions on their coaches, with the exception of Chris, whose own coach wasn’t far from retirement himself. Victor wished he could help Yuri through this problem, but what could he even do?

Somehow, Victor didn’t think he could trust any other coaches with Yuri. They could easily be so soft they made him complacent, or so hard that they tried to break his spirit. They might not respect his style, or perhaps give him too much free reign and let him descend into chaos. Yuri needed a good balance. Yakov and Lilia could be on the strict side, but they _did_ listen, and they had a mutual respect built between them. World Champion or not, Yuri was still young and vulnerable, and under the wrong coach, he might fail, or worse—give up prematurely.

But even with his worries, Victor was simply useless to help. “Just keep your eyes open, Yura,” he said, far too cheerfully to sound sincere.

Yuri didn’t admonish him like Victor had expected—in fact, he said nothing, only sinking lower into the couch.

It wasn’t long after that Yuri asked for Victor to drive him home, and once again Victor found himself alone with his thoughts. Only this time, instead of just one, he now had two Yuris to worry about.

Victor was in the middle of reheating his leftover stew when his phone rang, and he sprang for it without thinking, nearly burning his hand on the side of the pot.

It was Phichit.

“Hello?”

_“Hey. I figured you might’ve worried, so I just wanted to let you know that whatever you said seemed to get the point across.”_

“I was just—well, how is he?”

Phichit sighed. _“He’s fine. Being overdramatic is really not a good look for him, but when it comes to you, he can’t seem to help it. He was angrily crying for a while, muttering insults that weren’t_ really _insults like ‘stupid reasonable Victor’ or ‘idiot Victor and his idiot health’. Some of them didn’t really make sense, but I think his fever was getting to him. He took more medicine and he’s asleep now.”_

Victor hated to hear that he’d made Yuuri cry, but Phichit’s tone told him it wasn’t that serious. “He’s doing alright, then?”

_“I’ve been forcing soup and water down his throat when I can, and I_ do _think he’s getting better, but this doesn’t feel like something that’s going to go away overnight, no matter how much he insists it. I think he’s really just disappointed in himself, both for getting sick and making it worse by trying to work through it.”_

“I hope he understands that I just want him to rest and get better.”

_“You and me both.”_

“How are you feeling, by the way?”

_“Still a little weird, but it’s easy to forget about when I’m taking care of Yuuri. I’ll be fine, though. Unlike some people, I know how to take care of myself.”_

Victor smiled. “I’ll trust you, then. Don’t let Yuuri exhaust you too much.”

_“I won’t. And… The next time you call him, could you do me a favor?”_

“What’s that?”

_“Tell him how pretty you think he is.”_

Victor laughed. “What? I mean, sure, but why?”

_“Because sometimes he gets it in his head that he’s unattractive. I know you send him great reactions to his photos, but it’s hard for him to believe it when he thinks I’m just making him look good. I think if you just randomly reminded him that you find him attractive, he might internalize it a little better.”_

Victor thought back to every interaction he’d had with Yuuri in the past few months, wondering where he could’ve gotten the idea that Victor didn’t find him attractive. No matter how he looked at it, Victor was _sure_ he’d made it known as often as he could how weak he was for Yuuri. Still, that wouldn’t stop him from trying to do better. “I’m not sure where he gets that idea from, but I’ll do my best.”

_“He’s always been kind of oblivious to his own charms. Throw in some anxiety and low self-esteem, and it’s the perfect recipe for days that he just feels worthless. I think you scolding him brought him even lower, so I’m expecting some misery when he’s lucid again. A nice phone call from you will help, I think.”_

Victor suddenly wanted nothing more than to talk to Yuuri again. “If you let me know when he’s up to it, I’ll call him as soon as I can.”

_“Yeah, I can do that. Thanks, Victor.”_

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, or him.”

_“I will. And don’t worry too much about Yuuri, okay? I’ll make sure he gets better, so just focus on skating.”_

“For you, I’ll do my best,” Victor said. “Thanks for the update, and take care of yourself, too.”

_“Will do. Talk to you later, Victor!”_ Phichit hung up.

Even though he’d been fairly certain it wasn’t that serious, Victor was still relieved to know Yuuri wasn’t too upset with him after their last call. He hated to see Yuuri upset in general, but there wasn’t much more Victor could do about it. Life was sometimes unfair, Victor knew well.

* * *

 

Though Victor was glad to be off the plane after such a long flight, a melancholy settled over him as he took in the scenery of Yuuri’s home country without Yuuri at his side. The language was only slightly familiar to him from his hap-hazard studying over the past few months, and he couldn’t understand much aside from the phonetically-written hiragana and katakana words. He’d learned enough phrases to make polite exchanges or ask for simple things like directions or how much something was, but not nearly enough to have a meaningful conversation with a local. Not enough to do something _really_ stupid, like search out Yuuri’s family and introduce himself to them without Yuuri there.

From what Victor knew, it would take too long to get there and back, anyway. But he’d do it if he had the confidence he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

Victor was able to shed his melancholy as he fell into the demanding routine of competition, his downtime spent with Yuri, Yakov, and Lilia rather than any sightseeing endeavors. The quiet moments felt like his days before Yuuri, when his whole life was skating and sleeping and very little in between. He was focused, but knowing how much more colorful his life was with Yuuri in it made it awfully unappealing to go back.

The rankings after the Short Program saw Victor in a good position, just a few points shy of second place. Yuri, unfortunately, suffered two deductions after falling twice, and even his high-difficulty program couldn’t bring him higher than seventh.

The day of the Free Skate, Victor became acutely aware of how deeply Yuri’s performances were tied to his self-worth, and it was something Victor felt himself needing to correct.

Yuri was sitting in a corner of the practice room alone after their group warmups, only a handful of skaters left between him and his performance. He had his knees drawn up to his chin, his fists clenched in the fabric of his pants, shaking with tension.

“Yura.”

“No.”

“Yura, look at me.”

“I already know you look fucking ridiculous.”

Victor knelt down, and gently pried open Yuri’s hands. “Release it, Yura. You need to breathe.”

Yuri snatched his hands back and pressed them into the crook beneath his knees, pressing his face even harder against his legs. “Get the fuck away from me. I don’t want to talk right now. I need to focus.”

“But you’re not focusing,” Victor said, falling back on his heels to give Yuri space. “You’re thinking about your Short Program.”

“Because I’m going to _fucking fall again!”_ His voice grew so loud the other skaters in the room looked at them warily.

Victor, however, kept his voice low and quiet. “You might just. But believing you’re going to fall is only going to make it more likely to happen. Pull yourself out of your head. Look ahead, not behind you.”

“Easy for you to fucking say.”

“You know why it’s easy for me to say? Because I’ve been you before. You know my history. I didn’t hit my stride until I was four years older than you are now. I stumbled, and I fell, and I got up and did it again.” Victor reached out and pushed a stray lock of hair out of Yuri’s face. “You’re worried you’ve lost your competitive edge, your _je ne sais quoi_ that made you a prodigy. If you think that’s true, then you have to fight tooth and nail to get it back. It’s not gone forever, but it’s not going to come back without work. If you can’t learn to not dwell on your mistakes, then you’re as good as fallen.”

“My body has changed too much,” Yuri muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’m no good anymore.”

Victor sighed, smiling. “Where’s Yakov? I think he’d know what to say to a line like that.”

Yuri looked up for the first time, glaring at Victor with wet eyes. “What?”

Victor turned and sat beside Yuri, carefully adjusting his costume so it wouldn’t wrinkle beneath him. “I felt the same way when I was around your age, or perhaps just a little older—I was a late bloomer. Jumps suddenly lost their height. Landing was harder. I couldn’t fly like I used to, and I thought that was the end for me.”

“What did you do about it?”

“Well, at first, I pushed myself harder and harder trying to regain what I’d lost. Then I injured myself, and thought I was _really_ done for. Oh, I was so whiny—Yakov would grumble about me every day. But putting myself through rehab was actually a good way to reacquaint myself with my body and its limitations. I had to essentially learn to skate again, and in doing so forgot what my old body felt like.” Victor put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “I’m not saying you should injure yourself, obviously, but sometimes you have to throw away your old self to understand your new self.”

“Lilia always says the same thing,” Yuri said. “ _’Let your old self die._ ’”

“I think she often means it a little more metaphorically than I do,” Victor said. “But it’s sound advice. Don’t expect things to always be the same, and don’t get mad when they change. Learn what’s changed, and make the best of it.”

“But I don’t have time to relearn myself,” Yuri complained. “I have to skate in a few minutes and I’m terrible.”

“You’re hardly terrible,” Victor said. “I’ve seen you in practice—I know what you’re capable of. There’s nothing in your program you can’t execute flawlessly. Right now, though, you’re a little too up here,” he dug his finger into Yuri’s scalp, “when you need to be down here, at your core.” He pointed to Yuri’s chest. “Your heart and body know how this works. You don’t need your head right now.”

“But Lilia’s always telling me to be mindful and aware, and do everything like I mean it.”

“And that’s good when your mind is working for you. When it isn’t, though, it’s best to put your trust in the rest of you. You won’t be flawless, but your fear won’t take over, either. Claw your way up to the podium now, and work on taming your fears to give a spectacular performance at the GPF. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I _know_ you can do it.”

They heard the buzzer for the next skater, and Yuri let Victor pull him to his feet. “I don’t know about all of that, but I guess not skating isn’t an option,” Yuri said. Just from the way he stood, Victor could tell he was more relaxed.

“You’ll do well,” Victor said, patting him on the back. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Victor sacrificed the rest of his time in the practice room to watch Yuri’s skate, feeling too tense about it to focus on himself. He wanted to scold Yakov and Lilia for leaving Yuri to wallow in negative thoughts by himself, but one look at Yakov’s weary face was all Victor needed to withhold his opinions. His coach hadn’t traveled well, looking pale and worn with a persistent need to clear his throat before he spoke. Lilia returned with a cup of something hot for him before hurrying to Yuri’s side.

She was trying. That much Victor knew for sure. But she was stretched thin, her frown somehow deeper than normal, her movements clipped and harried as she looked over Yuri’s costume and fussed over his hair. With a trembling hand, Yuri nudged her back, but she insisted on using some sort of gel to put a lock of hair in place.

Her nerves were undoing what Victor had tried to accomplish, and he knew it was going all wrong. He had to intervene before Yuri lost what little calm he had left.

“I’ll take care of it, Lilia,” he said, gently but firmly, taking the hair pomade from her hand. She glared at him, and he fixed her with a steady, level gaze. As powerful and severe a woman as she was, it was difficult to hold, but thankfully it didn’t take her long to concede. She nodded tersely and went away.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Yuri asked, worry in his eyes.

“No.” Victor removed his glove with his teeth to dip his fingers into the pomade. “I think she just wanted to get these locks out of your face.”

Yuri took Victor’s glove, clutching it between his fingers. “I really don’t think I can do this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“You can,” Victor said, matching his tone. “I promise you, you can. You’ve practiced this for months, you’ve trained for years. You’ve put in the hours to make this possible. Turn off your brain, listen to your music, and move like you always have. It’s easier to say than do, I know, but let those thoughts of falling go. If you fall, you fall. Get back up and keep going, like always. Before you know it, it will be all over, and you can relax again.”

Yuri’s eyes fell to the floor. “Relax…”

Victor stepped back, deeming Yuri’s hair in place. He gave him a long, assessing look. “Have you ever had ramen before?”

Yuri looked up. “What?”

“Ramen. Have you ever had it?”

“You mean like that instant cup stuff?”

“No!” Victor cried. “I mean—it’s conceptually the same, but the real stuff is much, much better. You’ve never had it?”

Yuri frowned, looking at Victor like he was crazy. “Only the cup stuff, and only once or twice.”

“Then—no matter what happens, after this, you and I are going to get some ramen. Authentic stuff, since we’re here in Japan.”

Yuri looked aside. “I probably shouldn’t—Lilia will yell at me and—”

Victor stepped in close, putting his mouth near Yuri’s ear. “Opportunities like this don’t come every day,” he said in a low voice. “Ignore her. Give yourself moments to enjoy life, now and then.” He pulled back, smiling. “I’ll sneak you out if I have to.”

Yuri stared at him blankly, then ducked his head with a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“It’s a date, then,” Victor said cheekily.

“You better wash that makeup off, first. I’m not going anywhere with you looking like that.”

Victor tilted his head. “What—you don’t think the locals will like my look? Can I at least keep the gloves on?”

“If you do I’m going to steal them and tear them up.”

Victor tried to snatch his right glove back from Yuri’s hands, but he was too quick. “Don’t you dare destroy my precious gloves! Yuuri made those!”

“Don’t wear them and I won’t destroy them,” Yuri taunted.

“You’re making a scene,” Yakov grumbled, coming up to them. “Yura, get ready to get on the ice. Vitya, go clean up and stop messing around.”

“Yes sir,” Victor said obediently. He quickly snatched his glove back from Yuri, who wasn’t paying attention. Victor winked. “Good luck, Yura. You’re going to do great.”

Victor only had a few minutes of quiet in the bathroom, realizing not for the first time how weary he was of competitions. He wished he had his phone with him, just to give himself another glance of Yuuri’s last text. Victor always kept his phone in his locker during competitions, just to avoid the potential distraction, but he would’ve liked to read Yuuri’s words of encouragement again.

_I’ll be watching you with my whole heart,_ he’d said.

A year ago, Victor would have dismissed a line like that as being cheesy and too overbearing. It would’ve made him itchy. But after knowing how Yuuri watched him, after seeing the way his eyes sparkled and feeling his emotions pouring out of him in waves, Victor knew that that line was the truth.

His whole heart.

The least Victor could do was respond with the same.

Victor went back to the rinkside just in time to catch the second half of Yuri’s program. He couldn’t read either Yakov’s or Lilia’s faces to know how well he’d done so far, but there was a tense air among them that Victor couldn’t ignore.

The audience cheered, and all of Victor’s attention turned to Yuri. He was in the most difficult stretch of his program, where he’d loaded most of his jumps. Victor braced himself for the fall each time, but it never came. Yuri was on fire—not relaxed, but intensely focused, skating with that raw precision he’d had at his senior debut. What he lacked in finesse he made up for with his signature high-flying jumps, his hand over his head for those extra G.O.E. points.

Victor was surprised to find himself envious. That raw energy wasn’t something he’d been able to draw from in a long time, and it honestly looked like fun. Yuri skated as though he’d been able to toss his fears into the trash, and while that recklessness could get him in trouble down the line, here he shone like a brilliant, courageous star.

When the program ended, Yuri nearly collapsed on the ice, breathing so heavily he had trouble keeping upright. He spent just a moment greeting his fans in the audience before skating back to the barrier, not even picking up one of his favored white tiger plushes that rained down around him.

Victor couldn’t tell from any of them what the scores might be like. Yuri downed half his bottle of water, sweat pouring down the sides of his face, before settling down at the kiss and cry.

The wait was excruciating. Even if the last half of his performance had been perfect, it might not have been enough to make up for a disastrous first half, and Victor was kicking himself for missing it.

The scores were announced, and first, Victor didn’t hear them. He looked to the kiss and cry to see the reactions, but Yuri had his head between his legs with Lilia and Yakov surrounding him. What did that mean? But Victor turned to the scoreboard on the screen and saw—an incredibly high score. Probably in Yuri’s personal top five Free Skate scores, and _that_ set included a world record. What was baffling was that he even had a full point deduction, which meant he fell at some point, making his performance all the more incredible.

“Yura, congratulations!” Victor shouted towards the kiss and cry. Yuri lifted his head, his eyes red from tears, and gave Victor a rare thumbs-up, his body still trembling. While it was still too early to say whether or not he secured first, he would be tough to beat.

Victor knew he didn’t stand a chance. With his components, he’d have to skate perfectly with massive G.O.E. points to reach that high. The stakes weren’t great enough to push himself that hard—all he needed to do here was qualify.

Yuri left with Lilia and Yakov while Victor remained on the sidelines, moving around and keeping his body warm while the next two skaters went through their programs. He tried to focus on himself, but something felt off. Was it nerves? It didn’t feel like his usual brand of nervousness. He forced the feeling back and pushed himself into some stretches.

Finally, it was his turn to get on the ice. He gave a smile to the previous skater, removed his skate guards, and turned to hand them to—

No one. Victor searched for Yakov, twisting and turning to get a whole view of the sidelines, but his coach was nowhere in sight. Knowing that cameras were on him, Victor took a deep breath, plastered on his camera smile, and set his guards on the barrier as he stepped onto the ice. He skated over to where he’d left his water bottle, shed his jacket, and tossed it over the side. He forced himself to take deep breaths, trying to forget the fact that something was missing.

Had something happened? What if Yakov had collapsed again?

Victor had to skate. He was running out of time to worry. Even if something _had_ happened, he knew Lilia was with him. There was likely nothing Victor could do that she couldn’t.

Victor let go of the barrier and skated towards center ice, shaking out his limbs and stretching his neck, his usual routine that was meant to relax him. He felt far from relaxed, though, and he knew now there was nothing he could do about it.

_Time to fake it,_ he thought grimly.

He let the song take him through the first few steps, the movements ringing familiar, if a little hollow. But by the time he approached his first jump, he knew he couldn’t fake it. Perhaps he’d rotated enough, perhaps not, but either way he ended up with his ass on the ice, and he had to quickly get up to rush through the next part of his song. He popped his second jump. His choreography for the second verse was off. He landed his third jump, but only just, his wobbling ankle threatening to throw him off balance. Victor could almost feel the points draining away from his score, but at that point he found it difficult to care.

He just wanted it to be over.

Jump, jump, jump—another fall, underrotated, and popped again.

_I wonder if this will be my worst program yet,_ Victor thought with dark humor. He fell into his final spin, far too slow for any standards, and gave his final pose to the audience. There was a stunned silence before they broke out into polite, confused applause, and Victor greeted them with all the enthusiasm he could muster, which frankly wasn’t much.

He didn’t stick around long. He skated over to the barrier and reached for his skate guards—which weren’t there. Yakov appeared out of nowhere and held them to Victor with a grim frown. He looked as well as he did before, which admittedly wasn’t great, but there seemed to be no great emergency holding him back.

Victor was relieved and angry in equal measure. He snatched his skate guards and put them on before stomping off to the kiss and cry, trying and failing to maintain his composure. He wanted to be done with this, to get away from everything and process what just happened.

Even knowing the score would be low, the numbers still pierced deeply as they were read aloud. Victor couldn’t even manage a smile for the camera. He got up as soon as he could, stalking off towards the locker room.

“Vitya!” Yakov called. Victor ignored him. He didn’t want to hear anything his coach had to say.

Victor was sure he’d never felt so humiliated in his life. He was so embarrassed, angry, and disappointed at himself that he wanted to kick something. He very nearly did when he came in range of his locker, but instead forced himself to sit on a bench and breathe. He leaned forward and touched his forehead to the cold metal surface.

“What am I even doing here?” he asked himself. He wished he were back in his hotel already, wanting to wash his face and curl up on his bed, forgetting about the world. Would Yakov make him do interviews? He was ready to refuse outright if so.

A phone buzzed somewhere, and Victor suddenly remembered. Tears leaked from his eyes as he pounded his fist against the locker. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” he said weakly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You should be sorry. That was pathetic.”

Victor was surprised to see Yuri there. He thought the star skater would still be doing interviews.

“What the hell _was_ that out there?” Yuri growled. “I’ve never seen you perform like that. Did something happen?”

Beneath the demanding anger, he actually seemed worried. Victor felt a little too pathetic to give the real answer. He smiled weakly. “I guess I’m just not as good as I used to be.”

Unlike Victor, Yuri had no problem kicking the locker, his green eyes glaring as the loud sound echoed through the oddly empty room. “Bullshit! You were fine in Canada. Was it because you were missing your boyfriend, or something?”

Victor looked down at his hands in his lap. He hadn’t actually been thinking about Yuuri at all, though that felt like a better answer. Still, he didn’t want to lie about that—somehow, he felt it would come back to haunt him later if he did. “No. That wasn’t it.”

“Then—what?”

Victor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What it came down to was me being unable to focus at the last minute. I botched the beginning and never recovered.”

Yuri sighed heavily and sat down on the other end of the bench. “It’s just so unlike you. You’ve had some less-than-stellar performances before, but I’ve _never_ seen you break down like that. Something must have happened, like your injured yourself or—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Victor said again, more firmly. “Honestly, Yura, why aren’t you out there? You must have had a thousand members of the press asking you questions.”

Yuri turned his head away, foot kicking at the floor. “Because I thought you’d be in here crying alone again.”

Victor exhaled and smiled, putting a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Go make nice with the press so they’ll say good things about you.”

Yuri didn’t move.

Victor nudged him. “I’m fine for now, I promise. If you wanted to see me cry, you can come by my hotel room later.”

“Gross.” Yuri stood up to leave, but stopped before he reached the door. “We’re still going for ramen later, right?”

Victor let out a soft laugh. He’d forgotten. “Yeah. We’re going.”

Victor forced himself through the motions of removing his skates and costume, thinking of Yuuri the entire time. He hoped against hope that Yuuri wouldn’t blame himself for Victor’s failure, but it seemed almost inevitable. It might’ve been true that Victor would have performed better with Yuuri around, but he was really a worthless skater if he couldn’t pull himself together in Yuuri’s absence. No matter how Yuuri felt about it, though, Victor dreaded the conversation. He didn’t want to talk about his skating at all. He wanted to pretend it didn’t happen.

Victor only glanced at his phone as he packed up his bag to leave, noticing a few missed calls from Yuuri, and a handful of texts from various people. He ignored them for now. He wasn’t emotionally ready to deal with any of them.

Despite his dramatic makeup, Victor somehow was able to dodge the crowds and leave the rink without notice. He should have let someone know he was leaving, but he didn’t want to risk hearing questions about his performance. He knew he’d get scolded for not being there during Yuri’s award ceremony, but of all people, Victor suspected Yuri would understand better than anyone why he didn’t want to stick around.

Victor narrowly dodged a couple of fans in the hotel lobby who looked like they might try to approach him, sliding into the closing elevator just in time. It felt wrong to act rudely to his fans after all these years of doing his hardest to please them, but right now he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t even trust himself to fake a smile, much less deal with their questions, or worse—their pity.

Victor honestly didn’t know how to feel. Emotions of every flavor battled for attention in his mind as he threw himself into his hotel room, each one with its own valid reasons for surfacing. He was angry at Yakov, but also angry at himself for letting his fears get the best of him. He was sad to think that Yuuri might be hurting because of him, likely blaming his absence for Victor’s failures. He was disappointed that his last year as a competitive skater would be punctuated by one of the worst performances of his career.

And, hidden beneath all of that, he felt a tiny pinprick of relief. He wouldn’t have another competition until Nationals, and that breathing room was something Victor knew he needed. Every day he found himself longing for a time when he didn’t have to get up so early in the morning, didn’t have to push his body so hard, didn’t have to set aside everything else he loved in his life just to stay competitive.

He loved skating. It used to be the sole focus of his passion. But even before Yuuri, he’d felt his passion for competition waning, and now he felt trapped in a waiting game, wringing his hands until he’d completed his final skate. Only then, he thought, would he be free to live his own life.

Victor lay on his bed, eyes unfocused as he stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t believe he’d skated so badly. Had it really even happened? Was that score even real?

Victor laughed. “God, I’m so pathetic…”

A buzz cried out from deep in his bag, and Victor sat up to dig out his phone. Before he could second-guess himself, he answered. “Hi Yuuri!”

_“Victor… Are you alright?”_ His voice was still rough around the edges, the remnants of his illness still clinging to him.

“I… Yeah. I’m alright.”

_“Where are you now? The ceremony just ended and the cameras didn’t catch you.”_

“I would be pretty alarmed if they had. I’m back at the hotel.”

_“Oh…”_

“Don’t sound so worried, Yuuri—I’m fine. Really.”

_“What… happened? You weren’t injured, were you?”_

“No, I wasn’t injured…” Victor fell back onto the bed. “I just had a moment of distraction that I couldn’t pull myself out of. It was silly, but that’s how it goes sometimes.”

_“Don’t talk around it, Victor. Tell me what happened. Was it because… because I wasn’t—”_

“If you blame yourself for this I’m going to hang up,” Victor said quietly, in a voice so cold he startled even himself.

_“I—okay,”_ Yuuri conceded. _“But will you tell me why it happened?”_

“Ah, I don’t even know how to explain it,” Victor said, rubbing his face. “Yakov wasn’t there. He’s _always_ there before I skate. He hadn’t been looking well this trip, and I got it in my head something awful happened. And instead of going to check, I convinced myself to skate anyway, because I knew there was nothing I could do. That was my mistake.”

_“I’m so sorry, Victor…”_

“Don’t be,” Victor said gently. “I’m alright, really. I mean, it hurts my pride a little, especially knowing that my fears weren’t justified, but I’ll be fine.”

_“I still think you’re the most beautiful skater out there.”_

Victor smiled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do your costume justice tonight.”

_“Just you wearing it is enough for me. And it’s not like you won’t wear it again. Unless—you’re not quitting now, are you?”_

“Absolutely not,” Victor said firmly. “That was an affront to the sport. I absolutely _will not_ let my career end with a performance like that.”

He heard Yuuri’s laugh on the other end. It soothed Victor like a balm. _“I’m glad. I didn’t want it to end there, either.”_

“I’m not going to pretend it’s not a _little_ tempting, though,” Victor admitted. “I really am tired of this. Every now and then I find myself wishing I could skip to the end, so I could be with you again.”

_“Some days I think about that, too. But then I think about all of the skating I would miss, all those performances that take my breath away—”_

“Like the one I just did?” Victor asked dryly.

_“Like the one you gave me in Canada. Victor—I’m going to do my absolute best to go to every one of your performances I can. Whether you need me there or not is irrelevant, because I feel like I need_ _to be there, for myself. It was so painful to watch you, even during the Short Program, knowing that I couldn’t touch you afterwards. And tonight, knowing you’re just sitting alone in your hotel room, I… I can’t…”_

“Yuuri…”

_“I’m sorry. I know it’s not about me right now, and you don’t need my emotional baggage on top of everything else. I just want you to know that I would give almost anything just to be able to hold you right now. It hurts that I can’t be there for you.”_

“I know,” Victor said. “But hearing your voice is the next best thing.”

_“Honestly, I’m surprised you picked up at all. If it were me I would’ve turned off my phone to wallow in misery alone”_

“I was close to that,” Victor said. “But I can’t let myself stay miserable for too long. I have to fix it, or I’ll go crazy.”

_“I guess that’s one of the differences between me and you,”_ Yuuri said with affection. _“But you’re really alright? There’s nothing else I can do for you?”_

“Get back to me on that offer once I’m back in Russia,” Victor said. “I can think of a few ways you might cheer me up. Unless—are you still sick?”

Yuuri cleared his throat. _“I still have a cough, but I’m getting better. You and Phichit made sure of that.”_

“Do you think you’ll be better in time for the GPF?”

_“I—probably. Are you still going, even though you didn’t qualify?”_

“I honestly don’t know,” Victor said. “I only thought about it just now. But don’t you want to go to Paris with Phichit and everyone?”

_“I only want to go if you’ll be there,”_ Yuuri said flatly.

Victor turned onto his side. “I was going to say a bunch of words about how I should be there to cheer on Yura, but now that you say it, I think I’m the same. I only want to go if you’ll be there. I don’t think I’d have much fun otherwise.”

_“If you do decide to go, I’ll meet you there. Otherwise…”_

There was something pleasing in Yuuri’s tone. “Otherwise?”

_“You could come here, and we could have our own watching party. If you wanted.”_

Victor smiled as he considered it. “Hmm, that’s tempting. A quiet vacation with Yuuri… Can I have some time to think about it?”

Yuuri laughed. _“Sure.”_

“Do you have a preference?”

_“Mm, well… Staying here with you sounds like heaven, just being in a quiet place, not working, sharing food, the whole place to ourselves… But going to Paris with you, listening to you speak French in a natural setting, meeting Chris again, having sex in another hotel room… It sounds like a different kind of heaven.”_

Victor groaned. “You weren’t supposed to make the decision harder!”

Yuuri laughed again.  _“Sorry.”_

“You are absolutely not sorry,” Victor accused.

_“If it makes your decision any easier, Phichit would probably be really disappointed if he didn’t get to see you again. He’s expecting to go shopping with you at least once.”_

“Ah, I guess I did mention I would see him there. How is he? Was he watching with you?”

_“He’s not here. Leo was holding an overnight watch party at his place, and it took all of my energy to convince Phichit to leave without me last night. He’s actually been trying to call me, but I wanted to talk to you first, if I could.”_

“Oh. You’re there alone?”

_“Watching a livestream of your skate alone in bed, just like old times.”_ Yuuri actually sounded happy. _“Don’t worry about me, though. Phichit’s coming back tonight.”_

“Is Phichit doing well? Did he catch your cold?”

Yuuri scoffed. _“He caught it for all of twelve hours, most of which he slept through. Woke up fresh-faced and full of energy. I hate him.”_

Victor laughed. “Sounds like someone who knows how to take care of himself.”

_“Yes, yes, I know, he’s perfect, blah blah blah. Anyway, do you have any plans tonight? Or are you going to sulk alone in your hotel room? Both are valid, in my opinion, but if you’re doing the latter, I’ll call again later.”_

“Actually, I’m supposed to go out with Yura tonight. Do you… happen to know any good ramen places?”

_“Mm, not personally, but I can search around for you. Can you message me your hotel name when we hang up?”_

“Yeah, I can do that. Can you believe Yura’s never had real ramen before? Only the instant stuff.”

_“I’ve met a lot of people here in America that didn’t even know it was a real dish outside of the instant packets and cup noodles. Here they consider it a cheap food for poor college students. Once I heard someone call them ‘Roman noodles’ and I couldn’t stop laughing about it.”_

“You’re kidding,” Victor said with a laugh.

_“I couldn’t make something like that up if I tried. Anyway, I’ll help you find a good place that’s foreigner friendly. Since you’re in Tokyo most places should be fine, but I can scout out reviews from the locals.”_

“I really appreciate it.”

_“It’s the least I can do. Listen, I’m going to get off the phone so I can assure Phichit we’re fine. I’ll message you when I find a place.”_

“Okay. Thank you for cheering me up.”

_“I’m just glad I could. Don’t beat yourself up over it, alright? Call me or message me if you want to talk later. I might take a nap here and there, but I’ll be awake most of the day.”_

Victor couldn’t stop smiling. “I’ll let you know. I love you, Yuuri. Take care of yourself, or at the very least, let Phichit look after you.”

_“I know, I know. I love you too, Victor. Try to enjoy your evening, alright?”_

“I’ll do my best. Talk to you again soon.” Victor hung up with a sigh. He really, _really_ loved Yuuri, and if he needed any more convincing of that fact, all he had to do was assess the healing effect that conversation had on his wounded heart. Yuuri spoke so casually, reminding Victor that even after his life had screeched to a halt with that terrible performance, everything would move gently along. There were still plenty of things ahead to look forward to, and plenty of opportunities to redeem himself.

It still hurt a little. He probably wouldn’t be able to stomach watching a video of that performance for a long, long time. But it was over, and he had a delicious bowl of ramen to look forward to.


	28. Chapter 28

"So you're _sure_ he's okay? You know you’re not the best at gauging people’s feelings.”

Yuuri sighed. He wanted to argue, but knew it was an argument he’d lose. “I’m as sure as I can be. It didn’t feel like he was lying to me.”

Phichit turned on the stove, heating a pot of his soup. “I hope you’re right, for his sake. I just can’t imagine being _that_ good at something, then failing _that_ hard. It has to hurt.”

“I’m sure it did,” Yuuri said, resting his chin on the kitchen table. “And probably still does. But Victor’s not like me. He doesn’t break down at his failures.”

“That’s probably why he’s been able to go as long as he has,” Phichit mused. “But don’t put yourself down—you’ve come back stronger from your failures, too.”

“After a depressive episode and a tantrum,” Yuuri said, unlocking his phone. He still had Victor’s text open, the photo of Yuri Plisetsky glaring at him from behind two bowls of steaming ramen. It looked delicious, but Yuuri didn’t have the appetite for it. He barely had the appetite for the soup Phichit was about to force him to eat, but he knew he couldn’t get away with not eating now.

“Did Victor decide if he was still going to the GPF?”

“I think he’s leaning towards going, but he’ll probably take a little more time before deciding.” Yuuri scrolled up in his texts until he found a selfie from Victor, taken before his short program. A fan had given him a little paper crown to wear on his head, and he was so beautiful it hurt to look at. Yuuri wished he could’ve been there.

“Have you looked at any social media after Victor’s skate?”

“No,” Yuuri said. “And I imagine Victor’s done the same. If I can’t stomach the thought of seeing all those comments, I don’t think he could, either.”

“People are upset he didn’t give a press conference to explain what happened, but some guessed the reason anyway. There was a really clear moment you could see Victor looking around for his coach, and his fans are convinced it’s entirely Yakov’s fault. Some really nasty comments going around.”

“Sounds about right,” Yuuri said glumly. “I wish people would get a life.”

“Says the ex-fanboy.”

Yuuri stuck his tongue out at Phichit. “I was only ever nasty to those who were nasty first. But I can’t imagine doing any of that anymore. It drains me just thinking about how worked up I would get, back then.”

“You grew up, like I’m sure a lot of them will,” Phichit said, too kindly. “Anyway, I’d warn him to stay away, but he probably knows that by now.”

Yuuri opened up their shared work calendar, wincing inwardly at the schedule for the next two weeks.

Phichit snatched his phone away. “Don’t look at work now. You’re off until tomorrow.”

“I just wanted to know what I’d be dealing with…”

Phichit slid a hunk of warm buttered bread in front of Yuuri’s nose. “I don’t want you even thinking about it today.”

Yuuri’s stomach woke up to the smell as he took Phichit’s offering. “Is this rye?”

“Of course. I know how much you love it.”

It was already in his mouth before he could think of what to say, the butter sliding pleasingly on his tongue. He swallowed. “Thank you, Phichit. You’re too good to me.”

Phichit sat down with a sigh. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. As much as I harp on you working too hard, I really feel it when you’re not there. Not to mention the added work of explaining to our clients why their orders will be late.”

Yuuri looked down, ashamed. “I’m so sorry, Phichit.”

Phichit reached over and patted Yuuri’s cheek. “None of that. I won’t have you feeling guilty for getting sick—it happens to everyone. I’m just saying I’ve learned to _really_ appreciate how hard you work, because honestly, I can’t manage on my own.”

“Well, you know I can’t, either,” Yuuri said with a weak smile.

“You get a lot closer than I do,” Phichit muttered. “Anyway, I’ve taken care of all the emails, and I’ve gotten two designs approved, with two more pending. They’re sitting on your table downstairs, but I don’t want you touching them until tomorrow, understood?”

Yuuri itched to look at them so he could start planning, but in the end he nodded. He owed Phichit too much to fight with him over this. “I won’t go downstairs.”

“There are also two finished costumes down there that need your approval, but it’s not urgent.”

“You’re going out again tonight?” Yuuri couldn’t imagine any other reason why Phichit would be telling him all of this now, instead of in the morning.

“I—yeah. Unless you don’t want me to?”

Yuuri held out his hands. “No no, don’t stay on my account. I was just wondering. You haven’t slept here in a while.”

Phichit warmed his hands around his teacup, giving a sad smile. “I know. I kind of miss it.”

Something in Phichit’s tone gave Yuuri a cold feeling of dread. “Are you… thinking of moving out?”

Phichit’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ Where the hell did you get _that_ from?”

“I—” Yuuri tried to think of a sane explanation, but he wasn’t sure there was one. “I thought that… maybe you would be happier with Leo… or that the three of you were considering moving in together…”

“Yuuri.” Phichit shook his head. “Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri. You’re getting too ahead of yourself here. You _know_ I’ve been out of the apartment so that you can rest in quiet. I might be spending a lot of time at Leo’s, but I still _live_ here, and I’m going to live here until you kick me out.”

Yuuri kind of hated how relieved he felt. “Oh.”

“Honestly… I’m not ready to live with them,” Phichit said. “I’m still at the point that I like having my own space, away from them. I don’t know what that says about our relationship, but I still feel like I have some things to figure out before I’m ready to share my whole life with them. It still feels really new, and honestly… I’m not ready to give you up yet.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. “Even though I’m a pain in the ass?”

“An adorable pain in the ass.” Phichit stood, and ruffled Yuuri’s hair before going back to the stove. “I know I’m going to lose you when Victor retires. I need to get all the Yuuri I can before then.”

“You won’t be losing me,” Yuuri said, though he knew what Phichit meant. “I’m not letting you get away that easily. I still need you, Victor or no.”

“Do you _want_ me to move out?” Phichit asked flat out. “Soon?”

Yuuri knew he was asking for honesty, so he answered that way. “No. It’s been way too quiet this past week without you. I’d go crazy if I had to stay in a quiet apartment every night.”

“No, you’d probably just work yourself to death after I’d left for the night,” Phichit said wryly. He let out a sigh. “I’ll move out when I have to. I may even consider finding my own place, rather than stay with Leo or Guang-Hong.”

“Would you rather stay here?”

Phichit frowned at him questioningly. Yuuri told him about Victor’s love of dogs, and his plans to adopt a small pack of them after moving here. Phichit laughed.

“I should have guessed. There’s no way you’d let him keep a dog here.” Phichit ladled out a heavy bowl of soup—beef and radish—and sprinkled some chopped green onion on top. “I can see you two getting a nice little house outside the city, with a big yard, near a park, lots of kids—”

“Probably not any kids just yet,” Yuuri said hastily, his cheeks flaming at the thought.

“I don’t mean _your_ kids, just kids around the area. That sort of neighborhood. Though I’m going to remember that you said ‘yet’ and bug you about it in a few years.” He winked. “Your soup is ready.”

Yuuri enjoyed Phichit’s company while he ate, but was already dozing by the time Phichit was getting ready to leave. His body was telling him he wasn’t over his illness just yet, and Yuuri didn’t have the strength nor will to fight back. He was asleep minutes after Phichit tucked him into bed, feeling warm and cared-for.

The next few days Yuuri tried his best to catch up on work, but between his still-groggy mind and Phichit keeping a watchful eye over him, he took it relatively easy. It honestly felt good to work again, though, after being mostly bedridden for the better part of a week. His routine kept him from missing Victor too terribly much, though Yuuri had gotten into the habit of keeping his phone close so he could pick up immediately whenever he called.

Phichit finally stayed the night again, and the next morning laughed at how clingy Yuuri had been in his sleep. “I had to push you away three times, and every time you whined.”

Yuuri frowned at his coffee. “I have no recollection of this.”

“Maybe don’t make your phone call with Victor the last thing on your mind before you fall asleep. Or, at least, masturbate first.”

“But I did!” Yuuri cried, and immediately covered his mouth as his ears flamed.

Phichit snorted. “Try harder next time.”

“I don’t… I think I just missed sleeping with someone,” Yuuri mumbled.

“I’m not opposed to the cuddling part,” Phichit said. “It’s the dry humping I can’t sleep through.”

“I—I don’t—” Yuuri’s head was boiling so hot he thought he might die from embarrassment. “I’m sorry!”

Phichit giggled. “Calm down, I’m mostly joking. I don’t think you were humping me, but you wanted to get really close, close enough that I could feel your… Anyway, I get that you’re probably touch-starved. I imagine after a few days you’ll go back to normal.”

“I hope so,” Yuuri said miserably.

“So hey—where do you want to go tomorrow?”

Yuuri looked up questioningly. “Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?”

Phichit stared blankly. “You know, I thought you might be the type to forget these sorts of things, but I didn’t want to be right.”

Yuuri tried to think of what he could be talking about, thinking about their calendar and all the work they had coming up.

“Your birthday, dummy!” Phichit said, slapping the table.

“O-oh.” Yuuri _had_ forgotten. “We don’t have to do anything in particular.”

“Leo wants to have a party for you,” Phichit said flatly.

Yuuri seized up. “Er, well…”

“Don’t give me that face, I told him it was a bad idea and he dropped it. But I still want to take you out somewhere. Dinner and a movie, just the two of us?”

“Nowhere fancy,” Yuuri said. “One of our usual places is fine with me. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or you could cook for me… if—if you want,” Yuuri suggested shyly. “I like your cooking more than most restaurant food.”

Phichit’s lips trembled. “You—you mean that?”

Yuuri didn’t know how to interpret that look. “I mean—yeah, I do.”

Phichit jumped up from his seat and enveloped Yuuri in a tight hug. “Yuuri, you’re too sweet! I can’t handle it!”

Yuuri was suffocating. “Phichit I can’t—”

Yuuri was interrupted by a buzzing sound downstairs.

Phichit pulled away with a frown. “A little early for a client, isn’t it?”

“Maybe it’s mail,” Yuuri said. Phichit was already out the door before Yuuri could even get up from his chair. Phichit came back a moment later with a package in his hands, presenting it to Yuuri.

“It’s for you. From _Russia._ ”

Yuuri’s heart beat faster just from hearing those words. “He didn’t mention sending me anything…”

“Well, obviously he wanted it to be a surprise!” Phichit went over to his desk and came back with a pair of scissors. “Open it!”

The box was medium size, about the length of his forearms and maybe 15cm thick. It wasn’t too heavy, but it had a weight to it, and Yuuri was intensely curious as he picked up the scissors to open it. Inside, beneath layers of bubble wrap and tissue paper, Yuuri found an envelope nestled against a handsome leather-covered book. Yuuri picked up the envelope first, and found a handwritten letter inside.

Yuuri looked up at Phichit, who gave a knowing smile and a nod. “I already know what it is. Read the letter first.”

_To my dear Yuuri,_

_I was at something of a loss as to what to get you for your birthday. I had a feeling that, if I asked you outright, you wouldn’t have given me much of an answer, so I turned to Phichit for advice. He gave me some interesting ideas, and while I admit I was skeptical, he seemed convinced you would really like them. I hope you do. If you do not, call me immediately with something you would rather have, and I will do my best to get it for you, no matter what it is._

Yuuri stopped reading and frowned at the book. Just what _was_ it, that had Victor so uncertain? But Yuuri kept reading.

_This was no easy task to assemble, as I had to ask people I hadn’t spoken to in years whether or not they had anything for me to use. My coach and rinkmates helped out as well, once they discovered what I was working on. In the end I had more than I could conceivably fit in an album, but I like to think I chose the best ones._

_We’ll see each other again soon, Yuuri, but until then, look at this and think of me. I love you with all my heart, and not an hour passes that I don’t think of you. I hope your birthday is a happy one._

_Victor_

Yuuri set the letter aside and picked up the album, its gold trim shimmering in the light. It wasn’t gaudy or cheap—the smell gave away that it was probably real leather. Yuuri opened it, and stifled a gasp.

Each page was filled with photo after photo of Victor—skating photos, practice photos, selfies, magazine photoshoots, candid shots—every sort of picture Yuuri would obsessively collect when he was younger. He was perpetually torn between looking more closely at the photos or turning the page to see what was next, the latter often winning out after just a handful of seconds. One full page had been taken over by a breathtaking photo that Yuuri recognized from a magazine, except this one was professionally printed on thick, matte paper. Victor wore a suit as he lounged in a fancy armchair, examining a glass of wine held aloft in his hand, wearing his signature gold skates with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair. It was meant to be somewhat comedic, but Yuuri remembered looking at that photo for hours, admiring the planes of Victor’s face in the high-contrast lighting, the way his jacket hugged his shoulders, and the folds of his pants that Yuuri swore revealed a certain shape underneath. Even looking at it now, almost five years later, Yuuri felt his cock twitch. He had to turn the page.

Yuuri failed to stifle a gasp this time as his eyes rested on some of the rarest photos he’d ever seen. A very small Victor, no older than three, sitting on the grass in in the sunlight. A freckled Victor, around age six or seven, holding up a frog for the camera. A tiny baby in the lap of beautiful woman. A wobbly, unbalanced child standing on the ice. A young teen holding a big, fluffy poodle. Yuuri blinked, and a teardrop fell from his eye onto the page. He hastily wiped it away before wiping at his eyes so he could see more. How could Victor have ever thought he wouldn’t like this? This was the most precious gift he’d ever received.

“Anything you want to say about the gift, Yuuri?”

Yuuri looked up, tears still in his eyes. He’d had no idea Phichit had been recording this on his phone, but there was no room in his heart to even pretend to be mad at him. “It’s amazing,” he croaked, then cleared his throat as he looked back down at the photos. “I love it. I love it so much.”

A moment later Phichit lowered his phone and put an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Happy birthday,” he said softly. “I’m going to start on work, but I want you to take your time looking at this. Call Victor when you’re done; he’s waiting to hear from you.”

Yuuri gave him a questioning look. “You sent him the video?”

Phichit laughed. “Who do you think I was recording it for?” He kissed Yuuri’s hair, and went downstairs.

Yuuri admired Victor’s childhood pictures for a few minutes longer before he called him. Victor picked up after just two rings. _“Yuuri!”_

“Victor, I love it. Thank you so much.”

_“I’m so glad. It felt kind of odd to be giving pictures of myself as a gift, but Phichit told me you’d like them.”_

“I do!” Yuuri cried emphatically. “I really, _really_ do. He probably got the idea when I was telling him about my old book.”

_“Old book?”_

“Yeah… I used to collect your pictures from magazines and the internet and put them in a book, along with my favorite interviews or articles about you. I… threw it away. Back then.”

_“Oh.”_

“But this one is much better,” Yuuri said hastily. “I do kind of miss my old book, but this is a far better replacement. I’m curious as to how you got so many high-quality photos.”

_“Like I said in the letter, I talked to a lot of people. I don’t normally keep many photos of myself, except the very few my grandmother left me from my childhood. Occasionally I would get nice prints as a gift from the photographers I worked with, but I gave away a lot of them over the years. Some of them I got from various rinkmates, and a few I received from my father and Yakov.”_

“You put a lot of effort into this,” Yuuri said, touched.

_“I wasn’t going to be lazy for a birthday gift for you.”_

“Still, you didn’t have to go through so much trouble. Thank you so much, Victor. I’m going to treasure this for the rest of my life.”

_“I’m so glad. Just keep in mind you’re getting something better next year.”_ Victor’s voice took on a deep, seductive tone.

Yuuri laughed nervously. “Oh?”

_“I’m going to take my time celebrating you.”_

Yuuri inhaled through his teeth, biting back arousal. “Aren’t you at practice right now?”

Victor sighed. _“Yes. And I should probably get back to it. Will you be free later, in say—about seven hours? With the place to yourself?”_

“Mm, I might could make that work,” Yuuri said. “I’ll text you if it doesn’t work out. You _are_ aware it’s not my birthday yet, right?”

_“I know Phichit will be taking care of you tomorrow; I wanted to give you something today. Is that okay?”_

“I thought you said Russians don’t celebrate birthdays except on the day itself,” Yuuri teased.

_“Last I checked, you weren’t Russian,”_ Victor teased. _“If you don’t want to, then just say—”_

“I want to, I want to,” Yuuri said hurriedly. He wasn’t entirely sure what Victor had in mind, but he knew he wanted it. “How long should I clear my schedule for?”

_“A few hours, to be on the safe side?”_

“O-oh.”

_“Too long?”_

“No, no. Not at all. I’m just wondering what you’re planning.”

_“You’ll just have to wait and see!”_ Victor sang. _“I need to get back to practice, and I assume you need to work.”_

“Ye-yeah. Phichit’s already started. Listen, Victor—thank you so much for the album. I really do love it. I’d like to sit with you and learn the stories of some of these pictures someday.”

_“I think we’ll be able to manage that. I’m really glad you like it.”_

“I love you,” Yuuri said, his voice nearly cracking. “I’ll talk to you later.”

_“I love you too, Yuuri. Enjoy your day.”_

“You too,” Yuuri said, and hung up. Even after all this time, his heart still raced when he spoke to Victor on the phone. It was difficult to relax when just hearing his voice made Yuuri ache with longing.

Yuuri indulged in the photo album for a few more minutes before prying himself away and heading downstairs. He could get lost for hours if he wasn’t careful. “Phichit, I have two favors to ask,” he said. “A big one, and a small one.”

Phichit looked up from his design paper with interest. “Oh? Start with the small one.”

Yuuri checked his phone for the time. “I need you to leave at around… 3:30-ish? This afternoon. You can come back after 6:30pm.”

Phichit’s slow grin told Yuuri that he knew exactly what he was getting kicked out for. “Will do. I’ll be back after 7 to have dinner.”

“Please don’t get upset if I have to work afterwards.”

“Is that the other favor?” Phichit asked.

Yuuri shook his head, sitting down at his desk to check his schedule. “No. Just a request.”

“Okay, but you’re not staying up past midnight, and you’re working a half-day tomorrow so I can take you out,” Phichit said sternly.

“Understood.”

Phichit turned his chair around and rolled closer to Yuuri. “What’s the big favor you need, then?”

Yuuri ignored him for a moment as he compiled a list of things he wanted to get done that day, then pulled his hands back from the keyboard of his laptop. He wrung them together in his lap, not quite meeting Phichit’s eyes. “Do you remember, when you asked me about taking nude photos, and I said ‘not yet’?”

Phichit nodded. “It’s time?”

“It’s time,” Yuuri affirmed. “And listen—I’m going to pay you for it.”

“What—Yuuri, no!” Phichit cried, scandalized. “I can’t get paid for this!”

“You can, and will,” Yuuri said. “So far we’ve done mostly casual photos for fun, but what I would like is something more… professional. Good cameras, lighting, props, equipment, makeup, the works. It’s not something you should do for free, even if you want to. If you have a price in mind, I’ll listen to it, but otherwise you’re just going to get bigger paychecks over the next month.”

“My price is zero,” Phichit said. “I can’t take your money for something like this.”

“And I could never accept you doing so much for me for free,” Yuuri said. “If it were just for me and you, something we did for fun, that would be one thing. But because these are for a gift…”

Phichit sighed. “Okay, I get it. You’re going to give Victor an album of your photos for his birthday?”

“That’s part of it, yes,” Yuuri said. “I feel like it’s not quite enough, but I have time to come up with something else to add.”

“Hm…”

“So, will you help me with the photos?” Yuuri asked, hopeful.

Phichit left him hanging for a long stretch of silence. In the end, he smiled. “You know I enjoy our photo shoots. But if you’re looking for professional, shouldn’t you ask Leo?”

Yuuri’s cheeks flamed at the thought. “N-no! I can’t—it _has_ to be you. I wouldn’t be comfortable in front of anyone else, and I… I trust your eye. You know how to make me look good.”

Phichit rested his chin on his fist. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to flatter me or not.”

“I’m only saying the truth,” Yuuri said. “I can’t do this with anyone else. It’s either you, or it doesn’t happen, and I come up with a different idea.”

“Don’t sound so dramatic, I’ll do it,” Phichit said with a wave of his hand. “I guess I’ll accept whatever payment you want to give to me, but I won’t be happy about it. You’ll be getting something extra special for Christmas this year.”

“I can’t police what you do with your money,” Yuuri conceded. “But I hope you don’t spend it all back on me. You deserve payment for your work.”

“And I’ll get it,” Phichit said thoughtfully. “Anyway—can this wait until after we get back from the GPF? We have a ton of work to do before then.”

“Yeah—we can schedule it later,” Yuuri said. “I just wanted to make sure you’d be on board, so I’d have time to come up with a different idea if you weren’t.”

“And it gives me more time to think of ideas,” Phichit said cheerfully. “Unless you want to dictate everything?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I might have _some_ ideas, but I’m putting my faith in your decisions. I can’t match your eye for beauty, and I want these to be special.”

Phichit grinned. “We’ll get you some _really_ sexy photos then.”

Yuuri wondered how much he could accomplish at the gym before Phichit wanted to start taking photos. Probably not enough to make much of a visual difference, but maybe enough to make him feel a little more confident in himself. He made a mental note to ask Phichit to tag along the next time he went to train with Guang-Hong, and got to work.

Yuuri was so busy working that time flew by, and before he realized it, Phichit was packing up his things to leave. Somehow Yuuri had been able to focus enough to get ahead of his work, but there were a few things he still wanted to complete while he had them on his mind.

“Shoot me a text if you feel like you’ll need more time,” Phichit said, putting his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder and kissing his cheek.

“Where will you be?” Yuuri asked, curious.

“Bothering Guang-Hong at the rink. Leo’s busy today.”

“Does training for the GPF not count as busy?”

Phichit hitched his bag on his shoulder. “When Leo’s busy, I can’t bother him, and I don’t want to. Jiji doesn’t mind if I come watch him skate. Can I take the car?”

“Go for it,” Yuuri said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh yeah—I might stop by the grocery store on the way back. What did you want me to cook for you tomorrow?”

Yuuri grinned. “Surprise me. You know my favorites.”

Phichit nodded, and made his way to the door. “Have fun!” he called.

“You too!” Yuuri called back. He set his sketchbook aside with a sigh. Four projects, all in various stages of completion, needed to be finished before they left for the GPF in just over a week. Two years ago, Yuuri would have been thrown into a panic at such deadlines. Now, he could feel the strain a little, but nothing on their plate was particularly challenging, and they’d gotten into a good work rhythm. Phichit designed the costumes and got them approved, Yuuri patterned, and they traded off machine sewing and embellishments. Phichit handled clients, Yuuri handled payments and supplies. Everything else they took care of together.

Looking back, Phichit had been incredibly quick to take on his responsibilities. When he’d hired him, Yuuri hadn’t expected Phichit to do much more than handle designs and help with sewing, because Yuuri didn’t think he could trust anyone else to run things the way he did. But Phichit learned Yuuri’s methods quickly, asking questions, offering help and suggestions when Yuuri was at a standstill, and eventually helping Yuuri dig his way out of mountains of extra work.

Yuuri had expected an employee, and instead ended up with a partner.

He’d wanted to make it official, in the business sense, for over half a year now. Even if Phichit refused to change the name, Yuuri wanted him to own the business as much as he did. He’d been calling Phichit his partner for a long time now, and with the end of the year approaching fast, Yuuri itched to take that final step. He had a feeling things would be changing a lot over the next year, and he wanted Phichit at his side, for better or worse.

Yuuri was just about to pull up the old research and paperwork he’d found to make it happen, when a text lit up his phone.

Victor: _Are you free yet, birthday boy?_

Yuuri gave a helpless laugh, and closed his laptop. Somehow he’d gotten so lost in work he’d forgotten the whole reason he kicked Phichit out in the first place. He picked up his laptop and went upstairs.

Yuuri: _I’m free. What do you want me to do?  
_ Victor: _Get comfortable with your laptop. Bed or couch, wherever you like.  
_ Victor: _I’m going to put on a show for you, so don’t feel like you have to do anything but watch.  
_ Victor: _Call me when you’re ready._

Yuuri chose the bed. It would have a worse camera angle for him, but he liked being able to spread out. For good measure he set his lube and a box of tissues nearby, and made himself comfortable, resting his laptop on his thighs. Though he’d done this with Victor probably over a dozen times now, he still felt a trembling, nervous thrill as he hit the call button on Skype.

There were a few rings, and Victor’s face popped up on his screen, really close to the camera. It looked—different. _“Yuuri!”_

“Did you get a new camera?” Yuuri couldn’t help but ask.

_“I did!”_ Victor said cheerfully. _“Do I look good?”_

“I don’t think any camera can make you look as good as real life, but it’s definitely an improvement on your old one.”

_“I’m glad,”_ Victor said, clearly flattered. He was still oddly close to the camera. _“How was your day? Did work go well?”_

“It did,” Yuuri said. “I hit a good stride. I might go back and finish a couple of things later tonight.”

_“Hmm, we’ll see if I leave you with any energy for that.”_

“Oh?” Yuuri laughed. “Are you questioning my stamina?”

_“No, I’m challenging it.”_

Yuuri bit back a grin. “Happy birthday to me, then.”

Victor smiled at him for a stretch, but his smile slowly fell. He pulled back from the camera a little, though Yuuri still couldn’t see much beyond his neck and shoulders. _“I wanted to be with you for a couple of days. I tried to arrange it with Phichit, but no matter how hard we looked, there weren’t any practical flights. They all took most of a day, and traveling is always miserable for me this time of year.”_

“Don’t feel bad—you know I understand. I had no idea you were even wanting to come, so close to the GPF.”

_“Just a couple of days was all I wanted. But the more I looked, the more I thought it might be a bad idea. I’d be interrupting my training, I’d be reluctant to leave you again… I also knew you were busy, and didn’t want to disrupt your work too much. So I hope this much is okay.”_

“Victor, you know I always love whatever time you can give me,” Yuuri said, aching to see his lover so sad. “I treasure it. Even when we’re together, I hope I never take it for granted.”

Victor’s smile returned, and he pulled back from the camera. _“Someday, I’m going to give you so much of my time you won’t be able to help but take it for granted.”_

Yuuri gasped. He’d thought Victor had been naked, or at least topless, but only his shoulders were completely bare. His torso was covered by a white lace-up corset of some kind, the bottom of it flowing out in silky, transparent ruffles that fell past his hips. His underwear was a delicate set of white lace straps supporting a sort of sock that concealed his dick. A matching white lace garter belt held up sheer white stockings that covered his bulging thighs. If he wore anything else, Yuuri couldn’t yet see it.

Victor had his head down, looking almost shy—an expression that made Yuuri’s heart do flips as his dick began to harden. _“Do you like it?”_

“Do I like what?” Yuuri asked. Victor’s demure body language flipped his switch, and while he had no intention to be insulting, he wanted to seize Victor’s reins, at least for a little while.

Their eyes met, just briefly, and Victor seemed to understand. _“My clothes. I chose them for you.”_

“Tell me about them. Tell me why you chose them, and what it feels like to wear them.”

Victor shifted, moving his legs aside so he could rest his bottom on the bed. He ran his fingertips along the sheer ruffles of his top. _“It’s very soft. I’m not used to having such soft fabric against my skin. I’m still unsure how to feel about wearing clothes like this, as it’s only my second time, but seeing the way you look at me in them makes me appreciate them all the more.”_

“Did you have any sort of inspiration in choosing that particular theme?”

Victor gave a helpless laugh. _“I look good in white.”_

“You do,” Yuuri agreed.

Victor shifted again, resting his weight on his hip as he stretched his leg out to the side. He idly ran his fingertips along his stocking as if admiring himself. _“I’ve had my share of lovers before, but being with you often makes me feel as if none of the others even counted. You make me feel almost virginal, forgetting everyone else I’ve ever been with, everything I’ve ever done. When you watch me like you’re watching me now, I feel as though I belong to you, and I’ve always belonged to you.”_

Yuuri sighed contentedly. “You’re a thing of beauty, Victor. I could watch you lay there for hours.”

_“Do you want to? I’m yours to command.”_

“I might just,” Yuuri said, and set his laptop to the side. “Just a moment, though.” He removed his pants and shirt, leaving him in just his underwear.

_“Aren’t you cold?”_

“Not anymore,” Yuuri said. “But it will be on you to keep me warm.”

Their session began with a lot more talking than Yuuri had expected. Victor spoke more about the clothes, where he bought them, how much they had cost, and what sort of clothes he might wear next time. He showed off the ruffled lace that covered his ass, and spoke of his growing appreciation for elaborate lingerie, lamenting that it was far too difficult to find things that fit his physique.

Yuuri, too, was discovering an appreciation for lingerie. He’d always loved costumes, but there was something about watching Victor’s powerful body move around in a few strips of lace that gave Yuuri ideas. When he thought about it, it wasn’t all that different from the feeling he got when Victor wore his costumes—a deep satisfaction of having Victor dress up for him, and only him—only with a more sexy edge.

After a long time watching, Yuuri’s palms itched to touch him. He wanted to feel the fabric for himself, to touch the skin underneath, to move things around as he pleased. He wanted to slide his fingers beneath the lace and massage Victor’s asshole into submission.

When Yuuri said as much, Victor gave a low laugh. _“Are you ready for my show, then?”_

“I thought this was your show.”

_“That was all foreplay.”_ Victor got up on his knees, putting his lace-clad, growing erection on full display. _“Teasing. You had to have expected something else.”_

“I never have expectations when it comes to you,” Yuuri said, leaning back on his pillows. “I’d rather let you surprise me.”

Victor began teasing himself, starting with his nipples, his cock twitching as he breathed out a moan. The angle was perfect, Yuuri able to see his whole body and face, but his cock remaining in center view. He must have planned this. Even the lighting was good.

Yuuri’s dick begged for touch, but he waited. He always forced himself to wait when he watched a promising porn video, and this was far better than any porn. Victor made a show of coating his fingers in saliva, then rubbed them over his abused nipples, massaging them as he continued to moan.

Though the visuals were unrivaled, his voice took the whole experience to another level. Victor moved lower, and his voice got higher, those slow strokes of his cock through the lace making him shudder with pleasure.

_“Do you mind if I take this off?”_ Victor asked, indicating the panties.

“If you must,” Yuuri said with a sigh. “I’ll miss them, but the rest is enough.”

_“Maybe I’ll send them to you,”_ Victor said suggestively, then made a show of pulling them off his long legs. Yuuri groaned with appreciation, palming himself through his underwear a little. After they were tossed aside, Victor put himself on full display, legs spread wide enough to show the shiny pucker of his anus.

Yuuri involuntarily licked his lips. “God, how I miss you.”

_“You know I miss you, too.”_ Victor coated his fingers with lube, and massaged the skin below his dick, sliding down into his crack. _“It’s not fair to have to wait this long for sex. You’re worth the wait, but it’s not fair.”_

“I know,” Yuuri said. “All this anticipation is going to really mess us up when we’re finally together for more than a few days.”

_“I’ll be like an animal in heat, I’m sure,”_ Victor said breathily as he slowly inserted a finger. It was clear he hadn’t prepared himself beforehand, for how slow he was moving. _“I’ll want it every day.”_

Yuuri bit his lip and slid his fingertips under the waistband of his underwear, stopping himself from touching just yet. “I don’t know if I could handle less than twice a day, at first.”

_“You beast.”_

“If you’re worried, we could take turns,” Yuuri offered. “Me fucking you… You fucking me… Me fucking your mouth…” He trailed off, breathing through the latest surge of arousal. “I’d offer the opposite, but I don’t think I’m talented enough to enjoy that.”

_“I don’t think we need to worry about running out of ideas,”_ Victor said. He inserted another finger, gasping.  _“I would be satisfied even if we did it the same way, every time. As long as it’s you.”_

“There are too many ideas in my mind to be content keeping it the same every time,” Yuuri said. “You’re too inspiring.”

Victor slid his fingers deeper. _“Am I inspiring you right now?”_

“Absolutely,” Yuuri breathed. “It’s taking all my willpower not to touch myself right now.”

_“Tell me more, then. What you want to do to me.”_

Yuuri closed his eyes for a few seconds to gather his thoughts. Words were difficult to think of with Victor’s asshole right in his face. “Tonight, I think, I would make it nice and slow. Careful. I’d treat you like you were made of beautiful porcelain, and if I pushed too hard, you would break.”

Victor’s hand stilled. _“No one’s ever treated me that way before.”_

“I can understand why, but I think it’s a shame,” Yuuri said. “You’re strong, but you can be delicate, too. Unless, of course, you hate the idea.”

_“I thought I would, but like so many things, if it were you, I don’t think I would mind. I think I would enjoy it.”_ Victor removed his hand, and slid back from the camera a little, sitting up. _“I have something to show you.”_

“Oh?”

Victor reached off screen and brought a dildo into view. It was purple, but shaped fairly realistically, and not absurdly large. It was almost…

“Is that your replacement for me?” Yuuri asked with a laugh.

_“Nothing can replace you,_ ” Victor said, gravely sincere. _“But this one feels almost like you. If I close my eyes, I can pretend.”_

“How often do you use this… replacement me?” Yuuri asked.

_“It’s fairly new. It arrived a week ago, and I’ve used it almost every day since then.”_ Victor held it to his mouth, licking slowly along the side. _“I’ve never enjoyed a dildo so much.”_

Yuuri’s dick pulsed incessantly as he watched Victor slide the dildo into his mouth, and Yuuri squeezed himself in an attempt to relieve some of the tension. It didn’t help. “You’re killing me, Victor,” he said, his voice strained.

The dildo made a distinct _pop_ as Victor removed it from his mouth _. “Do we need to move on?”_

Yuuri took deep breaths, pushing back the urgency until he could manage it without losing his mind. “Maybe,” he admitted. “You’re pushing me too hard.”

_“You’ve hardly touched yourself.”_ Victor made a show of pouring lube all over the dildo, rubbing it up and down as if he were masturbating it.

Yuuri groaned. “I don’t need to. Seeing you and hearing you is enough.”

Victor smiled and fell onto his back, pushing some of the pillows beneath his head and back so his face was still on camera. He spread his powerful thighs and lifted his legs, presenting his beautiful, pulsing asshole to Yuuri. With slow, teasing movements, he pressed the tip of the dildo inside, and gasped at the intrusion. Slowly, slowly, he worked it inside, twisting and pumping with an accelerating rhythm.

“Fuck,” Yuuri breathed, all articulate thought draining from his brain. He moved his laptop off his lap and set it to the side. Oh, he wanted Victor so badly. His body _needed_ him, _needed_ to replace that dildo. His hips thrust up into the air involuntarily as Victor penetrated himself, over and over and over again. Yuuri sobbed at the torture, but refused to touch himself still. He wanted to wring out this moment as long as he could.

Victor’s breathing escalated, sweat on his face as he pressed his head back into the pillows. _“You feel so good, Yuuri.”_

“Uuhn,” was all Yuuri could manage in response.

Victor’s pleasure seemed to crest, his cries getting louder and louder as he called Yuuri’s name, working the dildo furiously in and out of his body. His other hand went to his dick, and Yuuri mirrored him, pushing his waistband down and touching his own without thinking. “Vic…tor…” Yuuri choked out, holding back his orgasm for all of ten seconds before it overcame him. His vision went dark, his body pulsed, and relief washed over him in beautiful waves as he shot his mess all over his chest. With his eyes pinched shut he couldn’t watch Victor’s orgasm, but he heard it, the sounds pure music to his ears.

Still breathing heavily, Yuuri reached over and grabbed a wad of tissues to clean up. Victor seemed in no such hurry, his stomach rising and falling as he still held the dildo inside him.

“You alright?” Yuuri asked groggily.

_“Yeah.”_ Victor’s eyes fluttered open, and he grimaced at his mess. _“Oh, I hope I can clean this. I was starting to really like it.”_

“I’m sure it can be cleaned,” Yuuri said. “I can offer tips for handwashing, if you don’t want to take it to a professional.”

_“As unashamed as I am, I’m not sure I could gather the courage to explain such a garment to a cleaner. I’ll see if I can wash it myself.”_

Yuuri sighed, turning on his side to watch Victor move around. “You’re amazing, you know?”

Victor stopped what he was doing to smile at the camera. _“Happy birthday, Yuuri.”_

“So, how long were you planning this?”

_“Weeks,”_ Victor said, wiping himself down with a cloth. _“Your album I started planning over a month ago, but this was a later thought. Like I said before, I’d hoped that I could be there with you, but when that didn’t seem like it would pan out, I bought the dildo and decided on a show.”_

“Well, I’m grateful,” Yuuri said. “Nothing is better than being with you, but this might just be the next best thing.”

Victor set aside his cloth, and leaned in closer to the camera. _“I love you, Yuuri. Never forget that I’m yours.”_

His voice filled Yuuri with warmth. “I love you, too. You should sleep now, it’s getting late.”

Victor nodded. _“Hopefully I won’t fall asleep in the shower. I could easily pass out right now.”_ He yawned, as if to illustrate his point.

“Me too, honestly,” Yuuri said. “You knocked me out. I hope I can sneak a shower and a nap in before Phichit gets back.”

_“I’m sure he’ll let you sleep if you ask,”_ Victor said. _“Take care, Yuuri. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”_

“Mhm. Goodnight, Victor. Sleep well.” Yuuri ended the call.

Just over a week, he reminded himself, closing his eyes. Ten more days, and he could see Victor again.

* * *

 

The next day, Yuuri woke up to a call from his mother wishing him a happy birthday.

“I’m sorry for not calling more often,” he told her. Hearing his native tongue was always warm and comforting, especially since it mostly came from his mother, these days.

_“Don’t worry about it, we know you’re busy. Minako tells us you’ve been very busy, in fact.”_

Yuuri flushed. He hadn’t told anyone back home about Victor, but if anyone had found out, it would have been her. “Ye-yeah.”

_“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”_

“I—we-well…” Yuuri hesitated, wondering how to put it delicately. “There’s someone.”

_“Someone? What kind of someone?”_

“A special…someone,” Yuuri said. “Someone important to me.”

_“A lover?”_

Yuuri flushed to hear his mother say that word. “Ye-yes.”

_“Who?”_ Her question felt like simple curiosity, but Yuuri had a feeling she already knew.

“His… his name is Victor Nikiforov. He’s a Russian ice skater.”

_“The same one you liked as a child? That you named Vicchan after?”_

“Yeah… The same one.”

“…”

The silence lasted so long Yuuri got worried. “Mom?”

_“Ah, sorry, sorry, I was just talking to your father. It’s just that—Minako showed me some odd videos of you and him, so we had our assumptions, but it’s nice to hear it from you.”_

Yuuri let out a long breath. “I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner.”

_“So, when will you bring him to us? You know we’d like to meet him.”_

“As soon as I can,” Yuuri said, unable to help a smile. “It might be a while, though—he has to finish up his season first. He’s going to retire next March.”

_“And then what? Are you getting married? I’ve heard that’s allowed over there—is that true?”_

Yuuri’s head went hot. “We—we’re not quite there yet. I mean, it’s true we _could,_ legally, but it’s not something we’ve talked about. It’s not—not like we’ve been together very long.”

_“Mm, alright. You’ll let us know when you can come see us again, right?”_

“Of course,” Yuuri said, relieved she dropped the subject so easily. She continued to ask him about work, then told a few stories from home about neighbors and guests before hanging up.

Yuuri sighed with relief just as Phichit emerged from the bathroom. “Tough call?” he asked, rubbing his damp hair with a towel.

“I just told my mom about Victor,” Yuuri said, staring down at his blank phone screen.

“You _just now_ told her? After how many months?”

Yuuri sighed again. “I know. She already found out from the videos, but she wanted to hear it from me. Which is fair. I should have told her a long time ago, but I didn’t know how to bring it up. I’m sort of relieved I didn’t have to.”

Phichit came over to muss Yuuri’s hair. “Don’t revel in being a bad son. Go take your shower, and I’ll make you a nice, traditional American breakfast.”

Yuuri’s stomach growled at mention of food. He hurried to take his shower.

After he’d stuffed himself full of eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes, Yuuri leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh while Phichit cleared away the plates. It was rare he ate so much in the morning, and he knew his stomach might soon protest to all the heavy food, but it had all been so delicious he couldn’t stop himself. “That was really good. Thank you.”

Phichit smiled as he refilled Yuuri’s coffee. “Are you ready for your gift?”

“Gift?” Yuuri looked up curiously. “You didn’t have to get me a gift. I thought we were doing dinner and a movie.”

“We are,” Phichit said. He walked across the apartment to his desk, picked up a box with a ribbon tied around it, and went back to Yuuri. “But I wanted to get you something, too. I owe you so much for everything you’ve given me, and it’s… well, it’s not much, but I hope you like it.” He thrust the box under Yuuri’s nose.

It was from a department store, Yuuri guessed based on the packaging. He undid the ribbon, and pushed aside layers of tissue paper to reveal—

“Underwear?” Yuuri asked, surprised. There were a handful of different pairs, each of them cut a little differently. One of them looked oddly similar to a pair that Yuuri had seen on Victor, a high-cut black brief.

“I tried to pick some that were both sexy, and also comfortable for everyday wear. Really, you can’t keep wearing the same pair every day.”

Yuuri wanted to protest that it wasn’t the _same_ pair every day, he just happened to have several pairs of identical underwear, but he knew that Phichit knew that. Yuuri gave a skeptical frown, holding up the pair of bright blue boxer briefs.

“They match your glasses,” Phichit said with a laugh. “Really, though—I know this isn’t the sort of thing you go out and shop around for. If you don’t like these, I’m willing to look around with you and try something else, but I think your cute butt deserves better than those plain things you wear all the time.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t dislike them… I’m just not sure… I mean, this one is _tiny._ Does it cover everything?”

“Does it have to?” Phichit asked. “Who’re you showing your underwear to that you need to cover everything?”

“Fair point,” Yuuri conceded. “But really—thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

Phichit’s smile was a little sad. “I knew I took a risk when buying you something like this, but I really think they’ll look good on you. We should take some photos for Victor with them, then I think you’ll understand.”

Yuuri stifled a burp. “Maybe later tonight? I’m so full.”

“Aren’t you going to stuff yourself on my dinner tonight, too?” Phichit asked with a chuckle. “Tomorrow.”

Yuuri’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket. Victor had sent a text.

It was a selfie—not a rare occurrence from Victor, but this one was oddly unkempt, his hair sticking out at all angles with a halo of morning light around his head. It reminded Yuuri of his favorite candid Victor photo, the one he’d taken back in Halifax. _The next morning—still wrecked. Good morning Yuuri, and Happy Birthday!_

Yuuri smiled. Victor must have taken it earlier, as his schedule would have him at practice at this hour. He’d probably just waited to send it when he knew Yuuri would be awake.

_Still wrecked, and still beautiful,_ Yuuri texted back. _Thank you for the birthday wishes. I love you._

Three seconds later, Victor responded. _I love you too._

Yuuri couldn’t recall a birthday he’d felt more loved and cared for. He never thought much of birthdays, and didn’t think much about turning 26, but he felt happy about the direction his life was taking, even more so than he had last year. He might’ve been up to his ears in work and hurting to see his lover, but with Victor in his life, and Phichit at his side, Yuuri wouldn’t trade his life for anything in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended to take a month before updating again, but here we are, a month later. This is a sustainable pace for me right now, though, and I'm hoping it will carry me all the way to the end. I updated my author notes in the beginning to answer some of the questions I've been getting, but for longtime readers the only thing you might be interested to know from it is that I'm about 3/4 of the way through the story, based on what I have planned.
> 
> Since I'm in a relatively good place, I'd like to say that from now on, I'll be doing my best to respond to all the lovely comments as I receive them. It would feel a little too awkward for me to go back and respond to everyone I've missed, so I greatly apologize if you were hoping for a response from me before. If you had a question I left unanswered, please don't be afraid to ask it again, and I'll do my best to answer this time. I do read every comment, and I always get really excited when I see one in my inbox. I absolutely love hearing feedback from all of you, whether it's a one-liner or a big wall of text. It makes me feel less alone in creating this. 
> 
> Also, I might consider updating one chapter at a time (every two weeks or so) rather than two chapters like I've been doing. If you'd like more frequent, but shorter updates, let me know in the comments. I won't make any promises, but I'll definitely take it into account if enough people ask.
> 
> As always thank you so much for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed it!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! It's been a while. Three chapters in this update, and some notes about my absence at the end of Ch 31. Sorry to keep you waiting!

Unlike some of his peers, Yuri didn’t mind traveling. Jetlag never bothered him, and when he got a room to himself, he actually liked staying in hotels. He was used to his sleep schedule fluctuating with schoolwork, and therefore maintained an ability to catch sleep just about anywhere at any time of day, whether that was waiting in the airport, on the plane itself, or on the shuttle. All he needed was a pair of headphones and his music, and he could pass right out.

But on his flight to Paris, Yuri found he couldn’t sleep. He was too restless, his mind thinking of too many things to even hear the music, no matter how loudly he cranked the volume. After an hour, he gave up, removing his headphones even though he knew he’d be opening himself up to conversation. Conversation was starting to seem almost preferable to his mind’s aimless, incessant worrying.

Yakov was asleep to his right, leaning into a pillow propped against the window of the plane. Now _there_ was a man who could sleep anywhere. Yuri had caught his coach dozing just about everywhere he’d sat down, as far back as Yuri could remember. The old man had the uncanny ability to appear as though he were deep in thought, sitting with his chin and hands resting on his cane, but Yuri always knew better. He was usually asleep.

To Yuri’s left sat someone who was doing the opposite. Victor appeared to be asleep, his head tilted forward with his eyes closed, but for how many times Yuri saw him shift, he knew Victor was failing at his task.

“You never ride coach,” Yuri said.

Victor kept his eyes closed, sighing as he leaned his head back. “That’s not true.”

“Okay, you _usually_ don’t ride coach. Why this time? You could’ve sat up there with Lilia.”

“The flight’s not very long,” Victor said. “Wasn’t worth the upgrade.”

That never stopped Victor before, Yuri thought, but decided it wasn’t worth the argument. “When—” He nearly stopped himself from asking, but decided to plow on. “When does your boyfriend get to Paris?”

“He should be there already,” Victor said. “He was set to arrive around the time we took off.”

“Will he be waiting for you at the airport?” Yuri thought of that video of their last airport reunion and shuddered inwardly. It was embarrassing to see such a dramatic display in public, much less all over the internet, and he worried he might have to see it again.

Of course, he would never admit how many times he secretly watched that video.

“I told him to go on to the hotel with his friends,” Victor said. “It would’ve been silly to ask him to wait for almost four hours at the airport.”

“Oh.”

“Eager to meet him?”

“No,” Yuri said, just a little too quickly. He tried to cover it up. “Just want to be as far away from you as possible so I don’t have to see you be all disgusting.”

Victor finally opened his eyes, and they were just a little sad. “I see.”

Yuri shut his mouth. Sometimes Victor scraped just a little too close to Yuri’s insides, and his instinct was to push him away. He’d been getting better at doing that without being unnecessarily mean, though, and he felt sour to have reverted so much.

Victor closed his eyes again and shifted around in an attempt to get comfortable, folding his arms across his chest. Yuri hadn’t wanted the conversation to end so quickly, but he didn’t know what he could say to fix it.

“Sorry,” he muttered, before he could think too hard about it.

“It’s alright,” Victor said, then let out a long breath. “Usually you’re asleep by now. Something bothering you?”

“Sort of, but nothing in particular,” Yuri said. “Nothing I can really fix.”

“Nervous about skating?”

“Not really,” Yuri said honestly. “Wasn’t even thinking about it.”

Silence lingered again. Yuri wondered what was going through Victor’s mind, to be attending the first GPF he hadn’t qualified for since his last major injury. It had been years. In his place, Yuri would have been miserable—probably would’ve refused to go altogether, if he were honest. Even if he were getting to see his boyfriend again, Yuri couldn’t imagine Victor was altogether happy about going to a competition he couldn’t participate in.

It still wasn’t clear just what had gone wrong in Tokyo. Wild speculation flew all over the internet, but Yuri knew most of it was complete trash. Victor wasn’t injured, wasn’t sick, hadn’t been compromised by another skater (Yuri was furious to see he’d been implicated by more than one person), hadn’t fought with his boyfriend—hadn’t done _anything_ different, as far as Yuri noticed. He’d seemed just fine when they talked right before his performance, so whatever happened had to have occurred between the end of Yuri’s performance and the beginning of Victor’s.

The only recurring comment that seemed to have any sort of plausibility was the fact that Yakov hadn’t been there at the start of Victor’s skate, but Yuri couldn’t imagine why that would have messed Victor up so much. He was a veteran—he’d been through this song and dance enough to do it in his sleep, and didn’t need a pep talk every time. Even Yuri found he sometimes was better off not listening to whatever Yakov or Lilia had to say, choosing instead to focus on himself.

Yuri didn’t buy it. There _had_ to have been something else that happened, but every attempt he’d made to pry it out of Victor was met with a quick change of subject. Stubborn as he was, Yuri could take a hint. Sometimes.

“When does Otabek arrive?” Victor asked.

Yuri shrugged, even though Victor still had his eyes closed. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“You’re avoiding him again?”

“No, it’s just not something we talk about. He’ll probably just text me when he gets there to figure out where I am.” Yuri had been trying not to think about it too hard. He was eager to see Otabek like always, but thinking about the looming conversation made him nervous.

Yuri didn’t know how he felt, and that was all there was to it. He loved Otabek as a friend and comrade. He didn’t mind the affection between them. Beyond that, he had no idea how he would respond to a love confession or anything like that. Yuri didn’t have time for a relationship or all the drama that went with it—skating and schoolwork was about all he could manage without drowning. Even finding a new coach was too overwhelming for him.

Not to mention he hated romance, and had no faith he could ever be romantic in return.

Giving up on conversation with Victor, Yuri put his headphones back on and turned on one of Otabek’s DJ sets. He’d been avoiding them, afraid the music would make him think too much, but all it took was a few familiar songs until he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

The hotel bustled with people, as it always did at the GPF. Mila met up with a friend, and Yakov sat in one of the squashy lobby chairs while Lilia spoke in harried French with the hotel staff. Victor had his neck craned, standing on his toes to look over the crowds, obviously trying to spot a particular someone while ignoring all the eyes that turned towards him the moment he arrived.

With a hotel room to himself this time, Yuri went to stand in the relatively short line to check in alone. He kept his eyes peeled for his fans, though he decided he wouldn’t try too hard to avoid them if they caught up to him. Whoever was in charge of the group that met up at his competitions lately, she seemed to respect his boundaries more than previous fans had, and had some sort of iron will over the rest of them that kept them relatively in line. Gone were the days of him getting stalked wherever he went, and he felt he owed them at least a few photos every now and then as thanks.

They weren’t here, though, and soon Yuri was checked in with nothing to really do. He dragged his luggage over to the elevators and went through his phone while he waited.

The elevator dinged, and Yuri looked up, fingers gripping his luggage handle. The dark-haired man who got off the elevator seemed a little familiar, but Yuri’s brain couldn’t place him. He’d seen him before, but he was sure they’d never met. Shrugging to himself, Yuri moved to get onto the elevator, but he stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

“Yuuri!”

Instinctively, Yuri turned around, vaguely wondering why Victor wasn’t calling him Yura. It took three long seconds before he processed that Victor wasn’t calling him at all.

Yuuri Katsuki hurried over to Victor with a spring in his step. Their hands were on each other’s sides, fingers digging into fabric, their eyes shining as they looked each other over. Victor said something softly, and Katsuki nodded. They looked as though they were going to kiss, Victor’s hand moving up to cup Katsuki’s face, but something held them back.

Victor’s hand fell, landing at Katsuki’s side, and Katsuki took it in his own. He stepped back, tugging Victor with him towards the elevators, and Yuri remembered he was supposed to be going up to his own room. He hurried into the elevator and pressed his floor button. The doors didn’t close quickly enough, and Victor and Katsuki joined him.

Yuri tried not to press himself into the corner, but their happiness and excitement were so oppressive that he wanted to, fingers tightly clinging to his luggage handle to keep himself still. Katsuki reached for the floor button, but stopped himself. “Ah, we’re on the same floor.” He turned to Yuri with a hesitant smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yuri.”

Yuri froze, his brain suddenly unable to function. Katsuki’s smile wavered, and he turned back to Victor, their fingers still tightly woven together.

“Y—you too,” Yuri stammered out just as the elevator doors opened. He felt so stupid, but as soon as they got off, he was able to breathe again. Katsuki hurriedly led Victor down the hallway, ignoring Yuri as they turned a corner out of sight.

Yuri found his room near the elevators, and bumped his keycard against the lock. It was always a strange relief when it worked the first try, even though he hadn’t had a mishap in years. The room wasn’t the biggest he’d ever been in, but it was plenty big for just him, the king size bed taking up most of the floor space.

He went through the motions of unpacking, a practiced ritual after all these years of competitions. He laid out all of his bathroom essentials, shook out his jackets and shirts, and removed his costumes from their garment bag, hanging them up to air out. Victor’s old costume didn’t sparkle as brightly as his newer one, and it was missing more than a few of its original sequins, but Yuri still liked the way it looked when he skated with it. It was a testament to the quality of the costume that he was able to forget that it was Victor’s, most of the time—if he were completely honest, he’d say the costume suited him and his program better than it had ever suited Victor.

With the costume on his mind, Yuri’s thoughts drifted back to Victor. Back in the lobby the man seemed to just _ooze_ happiness from the moment his lover reached him, wearing an expression Yuri had never seen on him before. Not even when he’d won gold at the Olympics had he seemed that whole-heartedly happy. There was something fundamentally different about it—it wasn’t a celebration of success, but something deeper, like a reunion with something he needed to live, a starving man in sight of not just food, but his absolute favorite food.

“Just retire already and get it over with,” Yuri muttered sullenly, falling onto his bed. He wished he could stop thinking about Victor. He needed to get used to the man being absent from his life, but lately the exact opposite was happening. More and more, Yuri was looking to Victor for advice and support about his skating, and he hated how reliably his words had helped. It wasn’t fair that Victor would be leaving Russia, but what could Yuri do about it? He couldn’t compete with Yuuri Katsuki, and no part of him wanted to, not when he turned Victor into an overgrown sappy puppy _._

Yakov had further tried to get Yuri to guilt Victor into staying, feeding him all sorts of lines about _giving back to the sport_ and _doing it for Russia, who supported him all these years_ , and Yuri had adamantly refused. Victor deserved to rest; he deserved to go after what made him truly happy after all those years of training and pressure. And if anyone needed convincing that Yuuri Katsuki was where Victor had found his happiness, Yuri needed only to direct them to those viral videos of them in Halifax. Yakov had grumbled and grumbled, but didn’t put up much of a fight. He, too, seemed resigned that Victor was lost to them.

Yuri turned on his side, closing his eyes. He had no idea what was so special about Katsuki, and he wasn’t sure he entirely wanted to know. All Yuri knew was that, whatever Victor felt towards that man, it was returned, and it was achingly beautiful in a way that Yuri would never find the words for. On the surface he wanted to avert his eyes and complain about it, but inside, at his core, Yuri wondered what it felt like.

Yuri’s phone chimed, and he dug it out of his pocket. He knew it was Otabek before his screen turned on, because he’d long ago set different ringtones and sounds for him.

Otabek: _you here?_

Yuri hesitated. If Otabek wanted to talk about something serious, Yuri’s hotel room would probably be an ideal place for privacy, especially since Otabek usually shared a room with his coach. But the thought of being alone with Otabek right now made him sweat with nerves.

Yuri: _I’m here_

A normal answer was fine. There was no need to invite him anywhere yet.

Otabek: _cool. I’m going to check in with the coach first.  
_ Otabek: _if you’re not busy, want to go for a walk?_

A walk. It was a little cold, but the sun was out, and Otabek always liked to explore the cities he visited—he’d often rent a motorcycle and visit all the nooks and crannies his local fans suggested to him through social media. As far as Yuri knew he’d never been to Paris before, so it would definitely be an interesting experience, no matter what they talked about.

Yuri: _sure. meet you down in the lobby?  
_ Otabek: _yeah_

Yuri sprang from the bed, suddenly eager to see his friend. He took just a few minutes to pull back his hair, switched to a thicker coat, and made sure he had his wallet and keycard before heading out the door.

Otabek was already waiting in the lobby, apparently having sent everything up with his coach. He looked—for lack of a more descriptive word— _cool._ He had his usual black leather jacket, worn with years of use, sunglasses on his eyes, and a fresh undercut. Yuri had to resist the urge to call out to him like he normally did—there were too many people here.

“Hey,” Yuri said, coming up behind him.

Otabek lowered his sunglasses as he turned to him, and grinned. “Yura. That was fast.”

Yuri shrugged, fighting a smile. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“There’s a café down the street—want to get something hot to drink and then explore? Do you have any plans?”

God, Yuri had missed just talking to him. His tone was so easy and soothing. “I don’t have any plans. Though—do you know any French?”

“Maybe English is alright around here,” Otabek said, pushing through the hotel doors. “It’s Paris, after all. They have to get lots of tourists.”

Yuri hoped so, though he wasn’t planning on talking to many locals. He walked with Otabek halfway down the block before either of them spoke, Yuri about to open his mouth just as Otabek started talking.

“Victor’s here, you said?”

Yuri nodded. “He said he’d come to support the team, but he’s mostly here because of his boyfriend.”

“And have you met his infamous boyfriend yet?”

Yuri shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sort of. I saw him on the elevator, but they went off in a hurry. Victor didn’t even acknowledge me. Obviously they had other things on their minds.”

“You sound disappointed,” Otabek teased.

“I’m not!” Yuri insisted. But since he was with only Otabek, he added, “I just figured Victor would want to introduce me to him.”

Otabek gave him a firm pat on the back. “He probably does. He probably wants to show him off to everyone, but they have to calm down first. It’s exciting to see someone you love after a long time.”

“I _know_ that,” Yuri muttered.

“Do you, now?” Otabek’s grin was infuriating. Yuri wanted to kick him.

They got through their café visit by pointing to items on a menu, Yuri clutching hot tea while Otabek sipped coffee. Yuri was glad to leave, the place stiflingly warm and noisy.

“So crowded,” Yuri remarked.

“It’ll only get worse as the days go on,” Otabek said, pulling out his phone. “Too convenient of a location. Let’s see if we can’t find something a little more out of the way. I’d hate to have to fight crowds like that the entire time we’re here.”

Yuri would have just done without the tea, but he knew Otabek liked his coffee in the mornings, and would never be content with what the hotel provided. It was one of the very few things he was ever fussy about. Deciding on a direction, Otabek began walking again, and Yuri easily fell in step with him, taking in the surroundings. He’d heard of Paris his entire life, but to him, from here, it looked like any other city. Their massive hotel loomed over the block, the sports arena next to it, a block of shops across the street. Otabek turned southwest, taking the road alongside the rink, and Yuri stared at it so intently that he hadn’t noticed how close they were to the river until Otabek pointed it out ahead of them. They turned north, walking alongside the river, until Otabek guided them down a street shadowed by what seemed to be a tall bank building. Yuri smelled a bakery before he saw it, and as tempting as it was to go in, he knew it would pay him no favors in the coming days.

“Your mom coming to this competition?” Otabek asked.

“Not this time,” Yuri said. “She wanted to, but couldn’t get away from work long enough.”

Otabek frowned. “I’m sorry, Yura.”

Yuri shook his head. “It’s fine. She was at the Rostelecom with Grandpa, which was nice, even though I sucked. She can’t come to everything.”

“Still, I know how much you like your family to be there.” Otabek put a hand at the small of Yuri’s back, making Yuri flinch, just a little. The hand was gone as soon as he’d put it there.

Yuri hadn’t exactly wanted it gone, but it _was_ a reminder that Otabek wanted to talk about something, making the air between them tense.

“Oh, there’s one,” Otabek said, pointing ahead. “That’s not so bad. People won’t want to go that far out of the way just for their morning coffee. Though I bet the people at the bank use it, so maybe it’s not much better than the other place…”

Yuri gave a half-smile. Otabek was trying too hard to keep things casual. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile, you know.”

Otabek made an effort to look confused, but in the end, it was more of a guilty cringe. “I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“You being weird freaks me out.” Yuri sighed. “And honestly, I’m probably going to get freaked out anyway. It’s what I do when things are different from what I expect.”

Otabek lifted up his sunglasses, settling them on top of his head to look at Yuri. The road was shadowed enough he didn’t need them, anyway. “Things don’t have to be different if you don’t want them to be.”

Yuri looked down, kicking some sort of nut that littered the ground. “Things already are different. And they’re only going to get more different as time goes on.”

Otabek stepped closer, his hand reaching out. “Yura, I—”

Yuri stepped back and shook his head. “Tell me when we get back to the hotel, okay? I’ve got my own room this time.” He turned his head upwards, looking at the tree above them. Somehow, it still had its leaves this time of year, and they were a handsome russet color. Yuri kept walking, hoping the way he chose would lead them back to the hotel.

It was a long, silent walk, but Yuri wasn’t as nervous as he was afraid he’d be. Train tracks loomed overhead as they turned another corner, and Yuri could see the hotel in the near distance. “Are you going to rent a motorcycle, this time?”

“I looked into it,” Otabek said. “Do you want me to?”

Yuri shrugged. “I always enjoy it when you do.”

Otabek let the barest of smiles show, looking more relieved than anything. “Then I will. I’ve been told Paris is a beautiful city to ride in.”

Yuri reached over and knocked Otabek’s sunglasses back onto his eyes as they stepped back into the sun, then leaned into him a little. Otabek’s arm hesitantly went around Yuri’s waist, but once it was in place, remained firm there until they reached the hotel again.

Somehow the lobby had gotten even more crowded, the line to check in stretching across the room and nearly to the entrance. Yuri led Otabek off to the side, walking around the perimeter of the space to reach the elevators.

“You’re in this tower?” Otabek asked. “Our room is all the way on the other side.”

“Must be nice,” Yuri said, pushing the button to his floor. For as crowded as the lobby was, no one seemed eager to get on the elevator with them. “I share a floor with Victor.”

Otabek shifted uncomfortably. “You think he’s… right now?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Probably. Thankfully, my room isn’t adjacent, so I don’t have to hear whatever it is they’re doing.” The elevator stopped, and Yuri led Otabek into his room.

Yuri set down his tea on the bedside table, kicked off his shoes, and plopped down onto the bed.

“Such a big bed for just you,” Otabek commented stiffly, then coughed. “Sorry, that was a—”

“Should I ask them to replace it with a smaller one?” Yuri asked with a grin. He patted the mattress. “Sit. Take off those stupid glasses and stop acting like I’m going to bite your head off.”

 Otabek sat, then removed his sunglasses, frowning at them. “Do they really look stupid?”

Yuri snatched them from his hands. “Only when you wear them inside, dumbass.” He folded them up and put them beside his tea, and quietly took a deep breath to calm himself. He crossed his legs, and leaned back against the pile of pillows, arms behind his head. “Alright, tell me whatever it is you want to tell me.”

Otabek didn’t speak for a long time, looking down at the mattress. “Maybe it’s better if we waited until after the—”

“No,” Yuri said flatly. “Tell me now. Even if it’s something I don’t like, I’m not going to blame you for it.”

Otabek shook his head. “I don’t even know how to say it, and it’s not like you haven’t already guessed.”

“I’m not going to acknowledge it if you don’t say it,” Yuri said stubbornly. “If your feelings aren’t worth saying aloud, then they’re worthless to me.”

Otabek flinched, his eyes staring widely at Yuri.

Yuri gave him a weak smile. “Take pity on me, please. I don’t know how I’m going to react until I hear it from you.”

Otabek hesitated. “Can I come closer?”

Yuri gave a long stretch, unfolding his legs. “Sure. I’ve got plenty of room.”

Otabek toed off his shoes and slid towards the center of the bed, stopping when he was just within reach of Yuri. “What can I even say?” He brushed his knuckles against Yuri’s cheek. “I’ve admired you for a long time, Yura.”

Yuri closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. It made his skin tingle pleasantly. “I know that.”

“And I love you.”

“I know that, too.” Yuri was sure he was visibly trembling, now, no matter how much he tried to keep it from his voice.

Otabek choked out a laugh. “You’re not making this easy for me!”

“If it were easy you would have said it months ago,” Yuri said mildly.

“That doesn’t mean you have to make it harder,” Otabek muttered.

Yuri ducked his head, smiling. He liked that he could throw Otabek off balance. “What do you want, Beka? Just tell me what you’re hoping for.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Otabek said. “And I won’t know what I want until I know what _you_ want.”

Yuri threw his head back with a groan. “You can’t put this on me. This was _your_ thing from the beginning!”

“I’m not putting it on you,” Otabek said. His hand fell to the bed, covering Yuri’s warmly. “But I want to make it clear that this doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be. I like things the way they are, enough that I can ignore anything else. But I want to let you know that—if any of it might be appealing to you…” He trailed off, unsure, then swore under his breath. “I’m just trying to say—my feelings for you go beyond friendship, and I think they always have. But how I express them will always be bound by how you feel about them. If you feel as though you just want friendship from me, you can ignore everything I might feel beyond that. Things can go on as they are. But…”

“But if I want more, I should say so?”

Otabek nodded.

Yuri sighed. “I wish it were as simple as your convoluted explanation made it sound.”

Otabek made a face, tilting his head questioningly.

Yuri shook his head. “I just mean that—I get what you’re saying. You’re dumping your feelings on me and saying it’s okay to ignore them. But it’s not as simple as that. I can’t just ignore how you feel about me—one, I’m not that shitty of a friend, and two, I can’t pretend I didn’t hear these things. I’ll remember, every time I see you.”

Otabek pulled back his hand, looking down at the mattress. “Then—you don’t think we could be friends anymore?”

Yuri narrowed his eyes. “Where the fuck did you get that from? No, I’m not saying that at all.”

“Then spell it out for me, Yura!” Otabek pleaded. “Did I fuck things up? Are things going to get worse now?”

“I can’t just—this isn’t something I can spell out, because I don’t have the answer myself.” Yuri drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them.

“Can you at least tell me how you feel about all of this? What’s going through your mind?”

Yuri closed his eyes. His thoughts were racing so hard it was difficult to pick out individual emotions, especially when he was fighting off a desire to run and hide. He started one of his breathing exercises, and eventually found a few things he wanted to say aloud. “I’m fine with the way things are, but I’ve known you wanted more for a while now. And ever since I’ve known that, I feel like I want to give you more, because you’ve been such a good friend to me. I want to make you happy.”

“Yura…”

Yuri shook his head. “The thing is—I don’t want a relationship. Every time I think about it, even a _tiny_ bit, I get dizzy. I’m already overwhelmed just with skating, school, and looking for a new coach—I don’t even know where I’ll _be_ in a year. I am one-hundred-percent sure I’d be a shitty boyfriend to anyone, if I tried. I don’t want to try.” He pressed his head into his knees, holding back tears. “I’m sorry, Beka.”

“No, Yura—don’t apologize,” Otabek said gently. He slid closer, putting an arm around Yuri’s shoulders. “I should have realized… I was being selfish with all of this.”

“You’re not selfish,” Yuri said. “I’m just broken. It’s not something I can navigate right now.”

“You’re not broken, you’re busy,” Otabek said with a warm laugh. “There’s a reason a lot of us skaters don’t have relationships—it’s hard to share your life with someone when we have such demanding careers. Fooling around at competitions is sometimes all the intimacy we can get.”

Yuri lifted his head. “Been doing a lot of that, have you?”

Otabek rolled his eyes. “For seven years now, I’ve only had my eyes set on one person. Besides, when would I have had time? I’m always with you.”

“I’m not at every competition…” Yuri said weakly, blushing. Otabek had so many admirers, how could he possibly have _only_ looked at him?

“And I’m not so starved for affection that I go looking for it from strangers,” Otabek said. His hand went up to Yuri’s hair, removing the tie that held his tail in place. His fingers pressed against Yuri’s scalp, rubbing gently. “I only want it from you, whatever crumbs you’re willing to give me.”

His rubbing was intensely relaxing. Yuri unfurled a little, and leaned into him. “What can I even do from here? Why do you want to waste your time on someone like me?”

“You’re my friend, Yura—any time spent with you is the opposite of waste.” He pulled Yuri closer, his movements more assured than they were a moment ago. “I just wanted to let you know how I felt about you, because a part of me wouldn’t rest until I did. If I’d known it would distress you so much, I might’ve held off a little longer. But I’ll say it again—nothing between us needs to change. I’ll still be your friend. We can still go exploring together. I’ll still share my music, and you can share your cat pictures.”

“It still feels… off, somehow,” Yuri said. “Different. I feel like something’s missing.”

“Missing… like what?”

“Is this really what a friendship is? Is this… what friends do?”

“Friends can do whatever they want,” Otabek said. “Maybe most friends don’t do this, but what does it matter what other people are doing? We’re not them.”

“Right…” What was Yuri’s heart wanting? Why did things seem so… incomplete? He felt as though expectations weren’t being met, but what had he been expecting in the first place? Trying to relax, he drank in Otabek’s calming presence. It had been a long time since they’d been this close, and it reminded him of spring, when Otabek had last come to visit him.

Things had just started to change, back then. At that time, Yuri had only Victor’s retirement to worry about, and there honestly hadn’t been much worry there. People had been predicting his retirement for years, and Yuri had long known he was getting tired of competitions. But it was before Victor had his heart stolen, before Yakov had his stroke, and before Yuri had to think about finding a coach that wasn’t either of them. A simpler time.

Otabek leaned back onto the pillows, and Yuri shifted, falling into the crook of his arm like he belonged there. He felt like sleeping, he was so tired.

“Are you alright?” Otabek asked, settling his arm comfortably around Yuri’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Yuri said honestly. “I’m just… thinking too much. Or not enough.”

“I’m sorry for the headache.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Yuri said. He turned towards Otabek’s chest and pressed his face into it. He smelled like soap and airplane, with a hint of spice from his deodorant. “I just wish I had a better grasp on what I want.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Yuri squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s the last thing I want. Really, I just want to stop thinking. I want everything to be simple, just for a little while, so I can breathe again.”

Otabek grabbed Yuri by the shoulders and eased him away. His eyes had gone dark. “Can I try something that might help?”

Yuri only gave the barest of nods before Otabek leaned in and pressed his mouth to Yuri’s. His lips were incredibly soft, but his tight fingers on Yuri’s shoulder gave away his nerves.

The kiss was over as quickly as it started, Otabek pulling back and giving Yuri a searching look.

Yuri gave a weak smile. “I guess that helped a little.” He tried not to sound like he had the wind knocked out of him, even though it felt like it. He’d never been kissed before, and this one was so unexpected that he barely knew how he felt about it.

All he knew was that he wanted it to happen again.

Otabek must have seen it in his eyes, because the next thing Yuri knew he was being pulled in, Otabek tilting his head so their noses didn’t bump again. It was soft and gentle, almost chaste, saving for the fact that Yuri’s heart was racing and his ears felt like they were on fire.

Lips moved against lips, pulling and pressing and shifting, exploring, long and slow. Yuri floated on those lips, his whole body leaning in to be closer to Otabek, his fingers digging at his clothes. Why hadn’t they tried this before? It felt amazing.

Yuri had no idea how long the distraction lasted, but he knew that he wasn’t thinking through any of it. The only thing on his mind was how crazy good it felt, and how his body was slowly burning for something more—though for what, he wasn’t sure. He let Otabek guide him until his head rested on the pillows, with Otabek’s body pressing close to his side.

Otabek pulled away, and gazed down at Yuri with a softness in his eyes that Yuri had never seen before, a far cry from his naturally-intense look.

_I’m so fucked,_ Yuri thought grimly, and swallowed back his fear as the kissing started again.

* * *

 

“Yura! Over here!”

Yuri cringed. It wasn’t an unusual thing to hear Victor speaking English, but having it directed towards him felt wrong, even if it was clearly for the benefit of his dinner companion.

The long table at the dimly-lit restaurant was set for nine, but other than Victor, only one person was there. He had a shy smile as he looked up at Yuri and Otabek, both of his hands clutching his water glass.

“Yura, Otabek, this is Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor said, cheerfully gesturing to the man next to him. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him by now.”

Katsuki looked as though he was about to reach his hand up, then quickly changed course and wiped his palm on his thigh. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, finally offering a drier hand. Yuri was hesitant to take it, but Otabek reached forward with enthusiasm.

“Otabek Altin.”

Yuri had no other choice but to shake his hand as well, but he didn’t offer his name. The man already knew who _he_ was.

“Sit, sit,” Victor invited, gesturing to the two seats across from them. “We’re expecting a few more.”

“Who?” Yuri demanded as he sat down.

“Chris and his fiancé,” Victor said. “And the rest of the Detroit crowd.”

Yuri didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t ask. He picked up a menu, frowning at the French.

“Detroit crowd?” Otabek asked.

“My partner Phichit and his two friends,” Katsuki said. “You might’ve met one of them, though—Guang-Hong Ji?”

Yuri froze, his fingers tightening on the menu.

A hand fell heavily on his thigh, squeezing gently. “We’ve met,” Otabek said conversationally. “He’s a friend of yours?”

“Sort of,” Katsuki said. Why did he look embarrassed? “He’s closer with Phichit, though.”

“Did you design his costumes, too?” Victor asked.

“Phichit mostly handles them,” Katsuki said. “I help with the construction, but I’m not involved with the designs or anything.”

Victor drank from his water glass. “I thought that was your arrangement for most things.”

“I tend to make edits on his designs for various reasons, but for Guang-Hong’s, I mostly let Phichit do what he wants.”

“ _No wonder he looks ridiculous all the time,”_ Yuri muttered under his breath in Russian. Only Otabek seemed to hear him.

“ _Be nice,”_ Otabek warned quietly.

Yuri knew it was an unfair jab, and felt a little ashamed for saying it. But what business did they have inviting _him?_ Victor must have known he was coming when he sent Yuri the invitation. What was he trying to set up?

Another menu appeared in front of Yuri’s face. He frowned at it, and looked up.

“Ah, here,” Yuuri said timidly. “I asked for an English menu earlier. Maybe it’s easier to understand than the French one, though I still don’t know half the dishes.”

Yuri knew he had a sour look on his face as he snatched the menu out of Yuuri’s hands, but he didn’t care.

“Thank you, that does help,” Otabek said politely.

Yuri chose a dish that didn’t seem too offensive, and had Victor place their order in French. The rest of their table arrived after a few minutes, and suddenly everything became too noisy. Yuri was introduced to the newcomers, though he didn’t care to exchange more than a few words with any of them. Yuuri’s partner Phichit seemed particularly excited to meet him, asking for a selfie with both him and Otabek. Yuri wanted to refuse, but Otabek bullied him into it, putting his arm around Yuri’s shoulder and pulling him into view of Phichit’s camera.

Yuri had chosen his seat well, it seemed. All the noise gathered on the other side of the table as everyone introduced themselves to one another, Victor and Phichit’s voices rising above the fray as they excitedly caught each other up on their respective lives. Even Otabek was drawn into the conversation, leaning over to hear something Christophe was talking about.

The only other person aside from Yuri who seemed to not be saying much was the man sitting across from him. Katsuki still clutched his water glass, a tight smile plastered on his face as he watched everyone else.

“Something wrong?” Yuri blurted. He frowned at himself—why was he trying to make conversation?

“N-nothing, I’m fine,” Katsuki said, fooling no one.

“Too many people here,” Yuri complained.

“Did Victor not say who all would be here when he asked you to come?” Katsuki asked quietly. Victor had gotten up from his chair to look at something on Phichit’s phone.

“No. He probably knows I wouldn’t have shown up if he told me.”

“You don’t like crowds much?”

Yuri hesitated. “It’s not that, exactly…” He didn’t know how much he should say about Guang-Hong. Katsuki mentioned they weren’t close, but…

“I don’t do well with crowds, myself,” Katsuki said. “That man over there, Leo? He puts on crazy wild parties all the time. Phichit loves them—he can have fun with anyone.”

“I can see that,” Yuri said, watching as the group of men laughed at something on Phichit’s phone.

“Me, though—I’ll sit in a corner and watch until I can leave. Sometimes Phichit would get me to talk to someone new, but it was always a little awkward, since I’m bad at pretending I don’t want to leave.”

Yuri eyed him suspiciously. “Do you want to leave now?”

“No,” Katsuki said. It didn’t seem like a lie. “But I can agree—there are too many people here.” He looked down at the table. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Yuri felt his throat tighten. “I’m sure Victor painted you a colorful picture.”

Katsuki smiled sheepishly. “Maybe a little. Mostly, though, he goes on about how hardworking you are. He worries about you.”

Yuri took a drink of water, hoping to loosen his throat. “You can’t compete if you don’t push yourself to the limit.”

“I know. And he knows, too. He says it was always hard for him to strike a balance.”

Yuri sighed. “Victor needs to realize that I’m not him. What I need in my life is different than what he needed.”

Katsuki put his hands out in front of him. “D-don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to lecture you. I obviously don’t know you beyond what Victor has said. I just wanted to assure you I didn’t get a bad impression. I’ve wanted to meet you for a while.”

“Why?” Yuri asked flatly.

“I…” Katsuki paused, looking away as if unsure of what to say. “I’m curious to meet people who know a different side of Victor.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “You think he’s hiding things from you?”

Katsuki shook his head. “Nothing like that, I just know that the way he acts around other people is different than when he’s just with me. I wonder how other people see him.” He flushed. “S-sorry, I didn’t really mean to start a conversation only to ask about Victor—”

“He’s changed, since he met you,” Yuri interrupted, before the man could apologize any more. “Everyone who’s known him even casually could say that, but those of us who work with him can tell it’s deeper than him just being happier.”

“What was he like, then?” Katsuki asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Before that?”

Yuri swallowed, those eyes practically pulling the words out of him. “He was… alone. I thought he was setting himself apart from everyone because he was arrogant, but the truth was that no one wanted to approach him. Nobody could see him as an equal. He was so focused most of the time that it was hard to break through his concentration, though occasionally he would have these moments where’d he be—really silly. I used to think he was just doing it to be annoying, to bother Yakov—but really, it’s just the way he is.”

Katsuki’s face turned sad. How could anyone’s eyes be so expressive? “I see.”

“Things started changing, after you,” Yuri reassured him. “He began to talk about himself more, and Mila and I started making an effort to get closer to him. It’s still hard, since he still has these moments where he sets himself apart from everyone, but…” He looked over just as Victor gave a hearty laugh. “Overall, he’s gotten better. _We’ve_ gotten better.”

Coolness enclosed the hand Yuri had left on the table. “Thank you,” Katsuki said, squeezing gently. “It means a lot to me that he has people to care about him at home.”

Yuri blushed furiously and snatched his hand away. “It’s not like we do it for you, or anything.”

“I know,” Katsuki said with a warm smile. “But I worry. I’m glad to know he has others worrying about him, too.”

“Who has time to worry about him?” Yuri muttered under his breath, resting his chin on his palm.

“He mentions you come visit him, every now and then. Is that why?”

Yuri shrugged. “He feeds me. He’s not a bad cook, all things considered.”

“I’m jealous—he hasn’t cooked for me, yet,” Katsuki said, still smiling.

“He will.”

Katsuki looked like he wanted to say something else, but was called down to the other end of the table by one of his friends. He gave an apologetic smile and got up, leaving Yuri alone at his corner. Good. He didn’t need to make conversation with such a dangerous man, anyway. How the hell was he so good at getting Yuri to talk? It wasn’t fair.

Otabek finally turned back to him. “ _You okay? It doesn’t seem like he remembers anything.”_

_“He remembers,”_ Yuri said sullenly, knowing he was talking about Guang-Hong. _“I could see it in his eyes.”_

_“You know if you just apologized—”_

_“I’m not going to apologize!”_ Yuri seethed through his teeth. _“Are you forgetting he started it?”_

_“You made it worse,”_ Otabek reminded him. _“It’s been a year. Apologize first, and let it go.”_

Yuri couldn’t find the words to argue. He did _not_ want to humiliate himself with an apology, but even he could admit that it would feel better to have all of this behind them.

Guang-Hong was not the first competitor Yuri had ever clashed with—that title belonged to Otabek’s old rinkmate, JJ—but he was the first that seemed to cause more than a flash-in-the-pan bout of anger. There was something about him—his smugness when he won, his outward carefree personality, his friendliness towards his fans— _something_ about Guang-Hong grated Yuri’s nerves like few other people had. Otabek had rightly claimed that part of it was Yuri’s inability to tell if Guang-Hong _actually_ disliked him or not. His friendliness extended to all his competitors, but something about the way he treated Yuri seemed different, somehow.

Or maybe it had just been Yuri’s paranoid imagination. Either way, he couldn’t deny that Guang-Hong’s greeting was less than warm tonight, and he likely remembered what Yuri had done.

At the other end of the table they seemed to be discussing the menu, Victor, Christophe, and Christophe’s fiancé translating and discussing dishes for the three newcomers. It was a good thing Yuri wasn’t starving, as none of them seemed all that interested in ordering yet. Weren’t they being rude to the waitstaff? Not that anyone looked particularly bothered by them.

Victor had his arm around Katsuki’s waist as they stood behind Phichit, looking younger and happier than Yuri had seen him in years.

Otabek followed Yuri’s gaze, and leaned in as he spoke. “ _Love has changed him.”_

Yuri shook his head. _“No. I think he’s always been this way. Whoever he was before this wasn’t the real Victor.”_

Otabek raised an eyebrow. _“Oddly sentimental, coming from you.”_

_“Shut up.”_ Yuri pushed his straw around in his drink. _“It’s just… Looking at him now, you’d think his career didn’t even matter.”_

_“Maybe it doesn’t, right at this moment. Maybe right now he’s not Victor the skater, but Victor the friend and lover. And when would you have seen him like this before now?”_

Maybe Otabek had a point. What was _he_ , when he wasn’t Yuri the skater? Yuri the student? Yuri the son and grandson? What did he want to be?

_Why am I thinking about this now?_

Katsuki found his way back to his seat, looking flushed and not entirely comfortable, his mouth in a tight frown. He lifted his water glass with a trembling hand, drinking a few hefty gulps before carefully putting it down.

“Are you okay?” Yuri found himself asking. “Do you need to get some air?”

“N-no thanks, I’m fine,” Katsuki said, his voice a little too high. His breathing seemed irregular, too.

Yuri was on his feet before he realized what he was doing. “Come on. Let’s go outside. I want to show you something.”

“What? N-no, really, I’m—”

Yuri grabbed the older man’s arm, hauling him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Katsuki put up surprisingly little resistance after that, letting Yuri half-drag him out the front entrance into the cold night air. Yuri hadn’t even looked back at their table. What would Otabek be thinking?

Katsuki fell heavily on the bench outside and hugged himself as he took deep, shivering breaths. “I’m sorry.”

Yuri dug his shoe into a notch in the pavement, keeping a respectable distance. “What’s there to be sorry about?”

Katsuki didn’t look like he knew how to answer that question. Yuri decided to relieve him from it by asking another.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I—ye-yeah. I think so. Thanks.”

“It’s not worth thanking me over,” Yuri muttered. More clearly, he said, “Was it the crowd?”

“I thought I’d be more relaxed, but with everyone talking so much…” Katsuki sighed. “I also haven’t eaten since early in my flight. That probably didn’t help.”

“And you didn’t say anything to Victor?”

“He was really having fun with Chris and Phichit…” Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you probably think I’m pathetic, but I didn’t want to worry him with this. I thought I would be okay.”

“It’s… not really pathetic,” Yuri said. “I know what the feeling is. It’s hard to control, and sometimes the dumbest things cause it to happen. But it doesn’t matter how dumb it is when it’s happening, and thinking about how dumb it is usually just makes it worse.”

Katsuki laughed a little. “Yeah.”

“You should know that he’s going to worry anyway,” Yuri said. “Victor. He’s not the best at noticing or remembering things, but he does care. Especially about you.”

“I thought I could handle it, this time,” Katsuki said. “Thanks to you, though, I got out before I made a scene.”

“Why did you agree to this dinner, anyway, if you hate crowds so much?”

“Victor was really excited about it,” Katsuki said. “And I just… wanted to make him happy, I suppose. I thought since I knew Chris, and everyone who flew with us from Detroit, there’d be enough familiar faces that I wouldn’t get overwhelmed. I guess I’m weaker than I thought.”

Yuri thumped Katsuki’s shoulder. “Or you just need some food in you. Can we go in, now? It’s freezing.”

“Yes,” Katsuki hissed through chattering teeth. He sighed as they stepped back inside the heated restaurant. “I thought you Russians were accustomed to much colder than this.”

“Yes, but we’re usually not stupid enough to go outside without coats. Actually—” Yuri interjected, remembering something, “—Victor _is_ stupid enough. And he never gets sick.”

“Really? He never mentioned…”

“God help you if he ever _does_ get sick, though,” Yuri warned. “One time—”

“Yuuri!” Victor called, getting up from his chair to look Katsuki over. “What happened? Where did you go?”

Yuri took his opportunity to slip away from them, going back to his seat just long enough to put a hand on Otabek’s shoulder. _“I’m going to the bathroom.”_

_“Want me to come with you?”_

Yuri shook his head. _“I’ll be right back.”_

He didn’t actually need to use the bathroom, but he _did_ need someplace quiet to go for a moment, to understand what had just happened. At the sink he splashed water on his face, barely feeling the cold water against his still-cold skin, and wondered. What was it about Yuuri Katsuki that made him do something like that? Why did Yuri feel it was necessary to drag a grown man he’d just met outside into the cold, rather than signal Victor to take care of it, like a sane person would have done?

Why was Katsuki so damned easy to talk to?

Yuri hadn’t really known what to expect, meeting the love of Victor’s life. Part of him, he supposed, thought that Katsuki would have been more like Victor—if not in lifestyle, then in personality. He certainly hadn’t expected someone so reserved, yet curious; enigmatic, yet vulnerable. Victor had made him sound like a stylish artist, someone talented and untouchable in that same way the world perceived Victor to be. But Katsuki had just seemed—normal. Even a little starstruck, perhaps, before he grew overwhelmed.

Yuri wasn’t sure exactly what had made him spring into action, but if he had to guess, it would have been the fear he’d seen in Katsuki’s eyes. Something about that fear had struck familiar, pushing Yuri into acting without a second thought. His instincts had told him to take care of it before it got worse.

He turned to leave, but the bathroom door opened, a smaller man blocking his path.

“Oh. Plisetsky.”

Yuri never really knew how to address him. Calling him “Ji” seemed too odd, but Guang-Hong was too familiar, and he wasn’t confident he could pronounce it properly. Instead, he settled on a glare.

Guang-Hong went to the sink, leaning in to check his face in the mirror. “Ready for the competition?”

“Of course.”

“I’m not,” Guang-Hong said. His face was screwed up as he plucked at an eyelash, making it impossible for Yuri to read his tone. “Too much pressure this time. I’ll probably fall flat on my face.”

“It would be no worse than I’ve been doing,” Yuri said carefully.

“Yeah, but you Russians always look better, even when you fall.” He turned to Yuri with a slight smile. “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll do well, as usual.”

Just _what_ was his game? “I’ll have to when you’re the one to beat,” Yuri muttered. He turned to leave, but decided the opportunity was too good to pass up. “Listen, I’m—sorry. About last time.”

Guang-Hong frowned. “Last time? What about last time?”

“I—your skates. Sorry.” Yuri only needed to see the realization in Guang-Hong’s widened eyes to know that he’d made a mistake. Before he could say anything else stupid, he rushed out of the bathroom.

When Yuri made it back to the table, things had settled down considerably, everyone now in their seats eating the hors d’oeuvres that had arrived while he was gone. They passed around plates laden with roasted artichoke hearts, onion tarts, a cheesy pastry Victor said was called a _gougère—_ Yuri liked those best—and an assortment of other small things he couldn’t name. Victor had really gone all out. Yuri wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with French cuisine, but the dishes Lilia served weren’t usually this indulgent, as she preferred to make leaner meals to keep healthy. Yuri had to limit himself to just a bite of a few things, since he knew if he didn’t, he’d likely overeat.

Katsuki, on the other hand, wasn’t limiting himself at all. Victor put everything in front of him, his eyes lighting up every time Katsuki took a bite. Victor seemed to take some sort of odd pleasure in watching Katsuki eat, and Yuri found himself watching them with morbid fascination. Was this normal for couples?

Had Otabek ever watched him eat like _that?_

Yuri glanced at his friend, not wanting to know the answer.

Guang-Hong returned to the table after a few minutes, setting Yuri’s teeth on edge. He leaned into Otabek. “ _He didn’t remember.”_

_“What happened?”_

_“I apologized. He didn’t know what I was talking about.”_

Otabek looked concerned. _“But he knows now?”_

_“He knows now.”_ Yuri took a long gulp of water and sighed, waiting for the ball to drop.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“That was _you?!”_ Phichit cried across the table, his wide eyes turned to Yuri. Everyone else looked at him.

“What was him?” Victor asked, frowning.

“Last year someone wrote the word _shithead_ across the bottom of Guang-Hong’s skates in silver marker,” Phichit explained. “He thought it was me for so long.”

Victor gasped. “Yuri! You shouldn’t do that!”

“Why not?” Phichit asked. “It was hilarious! I was laughing for a good twenty minutes when he first showed it to me.”

“And you wondered why Guang-Hong thought it was you,” Leo said, putting a hand on Phichit’s hair.

Guang-Hong smiled a little, but he wasn’t laughing with them. “I don’t get it, though—did I do something wrong?”

Yuri was about to explain himself, but Otabek stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, you didn’t—Yura was just bitter you beat him.”

Yuri glared at Otabek, whispering in Russian. _“What are you doing?”_

_“Saving you some trouble.”_ Otabek lifted his head. “He’s sorry, though.”

Guang-Hong’s wavering smile grew stronger. “It’s alright. I actually didn’t even notice until Nationals when I went to get my blades sharpened. The guy was so confused when he saw the writing.”

Conversation moved on from there, Yuri breathing an inward sigh of relief when their main dishes came. It felt nice to have those feelings behind him, though he still felt anxious for some reason.

After the plates were cleared and the checks paid, Yuri slid on his coat as everyone else made their way to the door. He lingered behind, tapping Guang-Hong’s shoulder to get his attention. “A moment.”

Otabek stopped ahead, noticing that Yuri wasn’t following him. Yuri shook his head at his friend, hoping he would go on. Otabek instead lingered near the entrance, a safe distance away.

“What’s up?” Guang-Hong asked. He was smiling as always, but clearly scared. “I’m not mad, you know.”

“You probably should be,” Yuri said. “But I wanted to warn you—don’t leave your skates out in the open.”

“Why not?”

“I know you’re the type of person who thinks that everyone’s nice and trustworthy,” Yuri said. “It bothers the hell out of me, but I get it. It’s who you are. But there are people who would do a lot worse than writing on the bottom of your skates.”

Guang-Hong’s smile fell. “Are there? Who?”

“Just—people. You never know. Some of your competitors are on the edge of desperation, and desperation can make people do things they wouldn’t do otherwise. I’m not saying you should look at everyone suspiciously, but just—protect yourself, alright?”

“I get it, but… is it really all that necessary? People wouldn’t _really_ mess with my skates, would they?”

“When Victor was 20 someone stole his skates—actually _stole_ them from his padlocked locker—right before a competition. He’s hardly let them out of his sight since then. I’m not saying anyone will do the same to you, but when you’re on top, people start to see you as less human. If I could get access enough to write on them, someone else could have loosened the screws, dulled the blades, clipped the laces, or any number of things without you noticing.”

Guang-Hong looked down. “Did Victor ever get his skates back?”

“No,” Yuri said bitterly. “He had to skate with rink reserves, and the idiot won anyway.”

“Really? Wow. Victor is so cool…”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “So? Will you keep an eye on your skates? I’m going to steal them if I see them out in the open.”

Guang-Hong narrowed his eyes. “Then you’ll be the first one I accuse if they go missing.”

“Then you’d better hope I’m the one who gets them, since I’ll actually give them back.” Yuri thumped Guang-Hong’s back. “Or you could just secure them. Your choice.” He turned to leave.

“Wait—Plisetsky!” Guang-Hong cried after him. Yuri turned back. “Why—why did you really write ‘shithead’ on my skates?”

Yuri opened his mouth, almost letting the truth tumble out, but changed his mind. “It’s as Beka said—I was jealous. Sorry about that. See you around.” He joined Otabek at the entrance, letting Guang-Hong go past him to catch up to his friends.

“Clear things up?” Otabek asked, his deep Russian a balm after so much English.

“More or less,” Yuri said, shoving his hands in his pockets. Otabek led the way outside, barely shivering at the change in temperature. He always seemed immune to the cold.

“So what was going on with you and Katsuki, earlier?” Otabek asked.

Yuri shook his head. “He just needed some air.”

Otabek grinned. “Did you make fun of his hair like you always wanted?”

 “He’s—not that bad, really,” Yuri said reluctantly. “It wouldn’t be any fun to poke at him. He’s too nice.”

“You like him,” Otabek teased.

Yuri shoved him with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Otabek laughed. The shove had barely moved him, solid as he was. “I’m just saying—you’re not usually this quick to warm up to someone. When we first met you called me ‘asshole’ just for looking at you.”

“Tch.” Yuri’s eyes fell to the sidewalk. “I was younger then.”

“It’s still unusual for you, is all I’m saying. He had you talking to him from the moment he said hello.”

Yuri closed his eyes, leaning into his friend as they walked slowly down the block. Sometimes he needed to remind himself that he didn’t have to pretend to have an answer for everything. “I don’t know what’s different about him. Or about me. I wish I did.”

Otabek’s arm was somehow warm as it snaked around Yuri’s waist. “He seemed interested in you. Maybe you’re vain.”

“I’m _not_ vain,” Yuri said. “I _hate_ when people are interested in me.”

“No, you hate it when people you don’t like are interested in you. You just happen to not like most people.”

Yuri didn’t want to admit how much truth was in that statement. Thankfully he didn’t have to, because Otabek knew him too well.

“What are your plans after this?” Otabek asked.

“Shower and sleep probably,” Yuri said. “Unless you had something else in mind.”

“Not particularly. I’d just hoped that maybe…” Otabek trailed off, then shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“What? Tell me.”

“No, you should rest.”

“You’ve already planted the seed. It’s going to bug me until you tell me.”

Otabek sighed. “I wanted to be selfish with your time a little longer. Maybe rent a movie in the hotel room. But it’s getting late, and we should probably both sleep.”

“Practice isn’t until noon,” Yuri reminded him.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure practice isn’t until noon?”

“I mean—” Otabek swore. Yuri loved making him swear. “Are you sure you want me around tonight?”

Yuri nodded, hoping Otabek couldn’t hear how hard his heart was pounding. Would there be more kissing? Or… touching? The uncertain anticipation made Yuri feel almost sick, but in a pleasant way, almost like his nerves before a performance.

Though he was no closer to understanding exactly how he felt, the kissing that afternoon had been a pleasant distraction. Otabek had touched him in a caring way, gentle and exploratory without going past any boundaries. He’d moved slowly, carefully, and always gave room for Yuri to say no. Eventually, Yuri had to, as his body had grown too hot and he’d been close to panicking. But Otabek had eased away without even a trace of disappointment in his eyes, smiling like a satisfied cat. He’d stayed and watched French TV with Yuri until Victor invited them out to dinner.

Yuri loved Otabek. There was no doubt in his mind about that sentiment, and he didn’t need kissing to confirm it. But understanding his feelings beyond that had been next to impossible. Yuri simply couldn’t know how he’d feel about something without confronting it first, and the kissing had been the first time he’d felt closer to understanding. There was more work to do, more feelings to explore, and Yuri found himself eager to get back to it, even though it scared him.

In the end, Otabek followed him to his room, and Yuri got exactly what he’d wished for.

* * *

 

On the day of the Short Program, Yuri was starting to think that Otabek’s distractions had worked _too_ well. He wasn’t nervous at all, but he hadn’t thought about skating at all for almost an entire day.

After practice the previous day, Otabek had rented a scooter, taking Yuri all around the city to beautiful spots where they didn’t have to buy anything. They ate street food for dinner, and sat on the grass in a park to watch the sunset. Once it turned too cold to stay out anymore, they rode back to the hotel on streets that glittered with lights, and said goodnight in the lobby.

Otabek hadn’t spoken much, but Yuri could tell he’d enjoyed himself by the way he always smiled when he noticed Yuri’s eyes on him. Otabek didn’t smile much as a rule—his face naturally fell into a neutral frown, giving away nothing—but he could always seem to find one for Yuri. Yesterday, though, his smile seemed brighter than usual. Had a little kissing really made such a difference?

Their time spent together was usually a nice source of distraction and comfort before the stress of competitions, and yesterday hadn’t been much different. Except now Yuri couldn’t find any of that usual stress, and it was starting to worry him. Warm-ups had felt like any other day. He was confident in his programs, and his body felt well-rested and ready to work for him. He couldn’t find anything in particular to be nervous or worried about, especially after clearing up that mess with Guang-Hong.

Of course, it stood to reason that the world would fill the void, because going through life without worrying about something was simply too much to ask for.

Yuri had lingered in the locker room after everyone else had gone, taking his time to get ready for his skate. After changing into his costume, Yuri retrieved his skates from his locker and set them down on the bench. As he turned around to close the locker door, a sharp end of metal caught in the pattern of sequins at his hip. With a long rrrrrrrrip, the fabric tore apart, sending a number of tiny sparkling disks fluttering to the floor.

At first, Yuri could only stare, unable to believe anything had happened. He fingered the long gash in the fabric, his exposed skin cool to the touch, the edges ragged and hideous as they reached down his side. He was stunned at how so simple a thing could ruin so much.

Anger laced with fear burned in his chest, stinging his eyes and making his limbs buzz with energy. He growled in his throat and kicked the locker door, putting a massive dent in the center. He didn’t care. The shitty thing was responsible for ruining everything.

Yuri stomped out into the hallway. “LILIA!” he screamed. “LILIA!”

Somehow, Yuri wasn’t surprised when, instead of Lilia rushing around the corner, it was Victor who’d come for him.

Victor’s smile fell as soon as he saw Yuri’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Yuri swallowed back a lump in his throat, feeling helpless. He turned, tiling his hip towards Victor, and gestured, not trusting his voice.

Victor bent down slightly to examine it. “Oh dear. That looks nasty.”

“Yeah,” Yuri’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “What the fuck do I even do about it? I can’t go out there like this!”

Victor seemed to think for just a pause, then his eyes lit up. “You might be luckier than you think. Be right back!”

Yuri closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the hallway, trying to breathe as he willed himself not to cry over this. It was all so stupid, but he honestly didn’t know what he would do. Did someone else have a costume he could borrow? Why hadn’t he brought an extra of his own?

It felt like an eternity before Victor returned, hurrying down the hallway with Katsuki at his heels.

“Let me see,” Katsuki said. Yuri gestured vaguely, and Katsuki squatted, getting far too close for comfort. He hissed. “Damn. It’s not as clean as I’d hoped. How did it happen?”

“Locker door.”

Katsuki looked up with a frown. “And the metal didn’t break your skin anywhere, did it?”

“No,” Yuri said, taken aback at Katsuki’s clear concern. “It just got the costume.”

“Ah, I guess the sequins are to blame here,” Katsuki said, poking at the fabric. “The netting here probably got caught.”

“Can you fix it?” Victor asked.

Katsuki straightened, looking thoughtful. “Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that it’s an easy enough repair. I didn’t think to bring anything, but I’m ninety-nine-percent sure Phichit has his kit with him. The bad news is—it’s not going to be perfect. I could do a better repair job if I had a day or two, but we probably have about… How long would you say?”

Victor checked his watch. “Maybe fifteen minutes, twenty at most.”

Katsuki nodded. “Right. Could you go find Phichit, and ask for his repair kit? I want to think about my approach a little more.”

Victor rushed off, and Katsuki ushered Yuri back into the locker room. “It’ll be alright,” he told Yuri with a small, reassuring smile. “It’s not so big a rip that it should hinder your mobility.”

Yuri sat down, still shaken. He couldn’t think of English words, which made him feel incredibly stupid on top of everything else.

“Do you like that costume?” Katsuki asked, sitting on the opposite bench to face him. “It was one of my favorites.”

Yuri could only nod.

“I’m going to be honest—you’re not going to like the way the repair looks,” Katsuki said. “It will be fine for today, but it’s not going to look the same.”

Yuri idly played with the laces of his skates that sat beside him, feeling ashamed he’d ruined Victor’s costume. He knew Victor wouldn’t blame him for it, but it was still his fault for being so careless with something so important.

“When you’re done with this competition, when will you need it again?”

Yuri grasped for the right words. “Nationals,” he managed to say.

“Ah, yeah, those are pretty soon, I suppose,” Katsuki said. “How about this—I do a temporary repair now, you lend me the costume when you’re done with it tonight, and I’ll give you something prettier for Nationals? Victor and I are staying a couple of extra days here in Paris—I’ll work on it while I’m here, and send it back with him.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“And—after Nationals, if you can part with it for a while, I’ll do a full, professional repair if you want. Something that will make it look as good as new—better, if I can help it.”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “You—will do that? Why?”

“Because I want to,” Katsuki said, his smile mischievous. “That’s a costume I’ve loved since I was younger than you. I’d love to restore it to its former glory. I’ll even do it for free, if you promise not to tell Victor about it.”

“Why not tell Victor? You think he will not like it?”

“I just want to surprise him,” Katsuki said, looking at the ground.

Victor returned just after, carrying a clear plastic flat box. Katsuki immediately took it from him and started digging through the contents.

“Oh good, he has some fusible web in here…” Katsuki muttered to himself. “And some interfacing, good, good…but for now…” He pulled out a spool of white thread, glanced at Yuri’s hip, then unrolled a length of it about as wide as his armspan. He quickly threaded a needle, and turned to Yuri. “I need you to stand up and stay as still as you can. This hopefully won’t take too long, but it’ll take longer if you move.”

Katsuki worked quickly but carefully, using confident, practiced motions to bring the fabric together. Not once did Yuri feel the stab of the needle. When Katsuki was done, he clipped the threads, and tugged at the fabric to test the stability.

“There, you’re good to go,” Katsuki declared. “I’d hurry to get ready if I were you.”

Yuri touched the stitch delicately. It felt like it stood out, but when he looked in the mirror, it just looked like a wrinkle in the fabric. “…Thank you,” he said.

Katsuki nodded and left with the sewing kit in his arms, exchanging a look with Victor that Yuri couldn’t interpret. Victor lingered behind, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

Yuri sat on the bench to put on his skates, using more care than usual to avoid further mishaps. “Where’s Lilia?” he decided to ask.

“Rinkside with Yakov. They heard you, but I told them I would take care of it.”

“Oh.” Yuri didn’t know why he felt relieved at that.

“Nervous?”

Yuri’s hands stilled. “I wasn’t,” he said. “I guess I don’t really have a reason to be, but I feel like that rip was an omen. I won’t do well today.”

“If you go in with the mindset that it’s inevitable you’ll do poorly, then you _will_ do poorly,” Victor said bluntly. “That rip had nothing to do with anything. When you’re on the ice, it’s you, and only you. If you fall, it’s not the world’s fault.”

Somehow, that thinking seemed to help. “I’m in control,” Yuri said quietly.

“You’re in control,” Victor echoed. “And if you’re worried about luck—I’d say it’s pretty lucky that you happened to have this crisis when you were a stone’s throw away of two professional, capable costume designers.”

“I guess so,” Yuri said, absently touching the stitch at his hip. He forced his hand down, knowing it wouldn’t help to mess with it. “I’m sorry for ruining your costume.”

“It’s not ruined, and I knew it was a possibility when I gave it to you. It’s old. If it doesn’t survive this season, I won’t be upset.”

“But you take such good care of your costumes,” Yuri protested. “Most of them looked pristine.”

Victor smiled, though it wasn’t exactly happy. “It’s not like those costumes are doing anything for me now. I’d much rather see you breathe new life into that one than keep it in the back of my closet forever.”

Yuri looked down and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to form words. How could he express gratitude to Victor? The idea alone was mortifying, and yet he couldn’t deny he _was_ grateful. For the costume, for the help, for the advice…

A hand fell heavily on his shoulder. “Get ready,” Victor said firmly. “You’re the only Russian out there this time, so I’ll be disappointed if you embarrass us.”

Yuri looked up. Victor’s gaze was intense. Something in that face felt nostalgic to Yuri, like seeing a relic from his childhood—a competitive gleam that Yuri had thought was long dead in Victor.

Yuri couldn’t imagine how Victor felt about being on the sidelines of this GPF, but Victor’s sincerity filled Yuri with fire. He wanted to _win._ He wanted to show the world that the best skaters would always come from Russia—that Victor wasn’t an anomaly, and that Yuri wasn’t just a child prodigy. He would skate with all he had, because anything less would be an insult to everything Yakov, Lilia, and even Victor had taught him.

In a moment of unrestrainable emotion, Yuri stood and pulled Victor into a brief hug, squeezing with all his strength before pulling away. He still couldn’t think of any words, but he hoped Victor could see the determination in his face.

Victor’s stunned face melted into another smile—not his fake camera smile, but a true one, in all its bald-faced idiocy. He clapped Yuri on the shoulder. “Good luck, Yura.”

Yuri grinned. “I won’t need it.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a brief warning, there's a Chris/Phichit scene in this chapter.

As soon as he caught sight of it, Guang-Hong launched himself face first onto the massive bed. “I’m so tired,” he cried in a muffled voice. “It’s not fair.”

“You should change out of those clothes and sleep, then,” Phichit said, sitting beside him.

“If I do that, I’ll miss all the fun,” Guang-Hong pouted.

“The banquet wasn’t enough fun?”

Guang-Hong turned on his side. “You know what I mean.”

“You know nothing’s going to happen,” Phichit said, though he doubted his own words as soon as he said them.

“Bullshit. Yuuri’s drunk, _something’s_ going to happen.”

“He wasn’t _that_ drunk…”

“Yes he was,” Guang-Hong insisted. “He doesn’t dance like that if he’s not drunk.”

“Yuuri’s just a naturally good dancer,” Phichit countered, unsure why he was arguing in the first place.

“Yeah, except that he can’t let loose without at least three drinks in him.” Guang-Hong flopped onto his back with a sigh. “I wish I could at least watch.”

“You don’t want some coffee?”

Guang-Hong rubbed at his eyes. “No. I need sleep. I’ve barely slept the past two nights and now that it’s all over, my body’s not giving me a choice.”

Phichit turned, planting his knees on either side of Guang-Hong’s hips. “So, how does it feel to be a two-time consecutive winner of the Grand Prix Final?”

Guang-Hong smiled, looking at Phichit through his lashes. “It hasn’t sunk in yet. I still can’t believe I beat Plisetsky after he performed like _that._ Two tenths’ difference. He must be so upset.”

“He seemed alright to me,” Phichit said. “He was really proud of his friend, at least.”

“Yeah, Otabek doesn’t medal all that often,” Guang-Hong said. “It’s a shame, because he’s a really good skater.”

“A really good skater among some _really_ exceptional ones,” Phichit said. He ran a finger down Guang-Hong’s chest. “You know I can stay here with you, if you want.”

“Nuh-uh. I need you to give me all the juicy details later. Leo doesn’t pay attention like you do.”

Phichit laughed. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“Besides…” Guang-Hong looked aside. “I know you’re excited to spend more time with Chris.”

Phichit pulled back. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t pretend, Chuchu. You’ve been flirting with him ever since we met him at dinner the first night. He’s you’re type, and I’d bet money I don’t have that you’re _his_ type, too.”

Phichit’s mind reeled, trying to think of what exactly Guang-Hong was talking about. Sure, Chris was friendly and sweet, and he and Phichit _had_ seemed to run into each other constantly during the event…

“You didn’t notice?” Guang-Hong asked teasingly. “You had your eyes glued to him during both his programs. You were practically drooling over him.”

“I did that for everyone!” Phichit cried. “Chris was just… sexier than most of the others…”

“You were fanning yourself after his performances,” Guang-Hong laughed. “It’s okay to admit it, Chuchu. And if anything happens tonight—”

“Nothing will happen!” Phichit insisted. “He’s _engaged._ And his fiancé is joining us.”

“Him being engaged didn’t stop him from fooling around with Victor and Yuuri,” Guang-Hong reminded him.

“Yes, but…” Phichit reached forward and took Guang-Hong’s hands. “I’m with _you,_ Jiji. And Leo. I belong to you two, now.”

“You belong to yourself,” Guang-Hong said. “And I’m not making any decisions for you. All I’m saying is that if something happens tonight—if the moment comes up and you want to take it—don’t let me stop you. Do what makes you happy, because opportunities like this don’t come very often.”

“I don’t know that I’ll want to, but—are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Guang-Hong said. “You know I don’t get jealous about much, if anything, and I would feel really bad if you had to hold yourself back because you thought I might not like it.”

“How _would_ you feel about it, though?” Phichit asked. “I want to know the truth.”

“The honest truth? Hmm.” Guang-Hong pressed his lips together in thought. “I guess I’d just be a little bit sad I missed the show. But you’ll tell me everything, right?”

“You know I always do,” Phichit said.

“Then as long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy too,” Guang-Hong said.

Phichit couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down to plant a kiss on Guang-Hong’s cheek. Guang-Hong turned his head until their lips met. The two of them didn’t kiss very often—Guang-Hong wasn’t much of a kisser in general—so there was always a sweet spark of electricity in Phichit’s heart when it happened. He pressed their lips together briefly before pulling away. “I love you, Jiji.”

“I love you too, but I’ll love you more if you let me sleep.”

Phichit helped Guang-Hong change, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, Guang-Hong was snoring. Phichit hung up Guang-Hong’s suit, and wondered if he should change out of his. At the very least, he put away his jacket.

Leo came and found Phichit in the bathroom a few minutes later. “Hey. They’re all here.”

Phichit had been blotting the oil on his face, careful not to smudge his eyeliner. “All of them?”

“Well, Chris’s fiancé didn’t make it—he was going to meet up with an old friend. But Chris is here, and Victor and Yuuri. They’re waiting for you out there.”

“I’m almost done,” Phichit said, suddenly feeling nervous. Why was Chris’s fiancé gone? It would’ve been far easier to ignore Guang-Hong’s words if Chris was still hanging off another man. “Guang-Hong wanted to be awake for it, but…”

Leo leaned out of the doorway to look towards the bed. “He seems pretty out.”

“Well, you know he hardly slept.”

“I know. How he can manage a gold medal on that little sleep, I’ll never understand.”

Phichit smiled at his reflection. “He’s amazing, our Jiji.” He dug into his travel makeup bag and applied a layer of glossy chapstick to his lips.

Leo came up behind him, rubbing Phichit’s back with long, soothing strokes. “Planning on a lot of kissing tonight?”

“Just hydrating, you know,” Phichit said casually. “In case it’s a long night.”

“Guang-Hong and I talked last night after you fell asleep,” Leo said. “About you and—”

Phichit stiffened. “Do _not_ say Christophe Giacometti.”

“What’s the matter? We could tell that you like him.”

“So what if I do?” Phichit leaned forward and plucked at his eyelashes. “He’s a nice guy. Friendly. Attractive. What’s not to like?”

“Come on, Phichit, it’s more than that. You two just met and you already talk like you’re on the same wavelength. He’s been staring at you like he wants to eat you up, and you’ve been staring back like you want to let him.”

Phichit sighed. “Okay—he’s my type, what do you want me to say about it?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Leo said. “But if you want to get friendly with him here tonight, I won’t be upset.”

Phichit shook his head furiously, feeling something inside him snap. He turned to glare at Leo. “Why are you and Guang-Hong _so_ convinced I want to have sex with him? I don’t! I’m perfectly happy with you two! I’m not some sex-crazed lunatic who feels like he has to hop into bed the moment some beautiful man comes within reach! I’m not y—” Phichit shut his mouth and turned away, deeply ashamed at himself.

“What, you’re not me? That’s what you were going to say?” Leo’s voice was infuriatingly calm.

“That’s not what I meant to say,” Phichit said.

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Phichit rubbed at his head, feeling tense. “You know I don’t think you’re a sex-crazed lunatic.”

“But you did,” Leo reminded him. “You used to. You told me as much.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But you don’t think that now,” Leo finished. He put a hand on Phichit’s shoulder. “I know. I’m not upset at what you almost said. What I want to know is why you’re so scared. Are you afraid _we’ll_ think less of you if you fool around with him?”

Phichit rubbed his neck. “No. I just wish you two didn’t decide what I wanted before it even crossed my mind.”

“It didn’t? Because it sure looked like it to me.”

“When?”

Leo gave a lopsided smile. “I don’t know—every time he looks at you? Maybe you’re not aware of it, but you’re very _on_ when he’s around. He wants you, and you like it.”

“Even if that were true…”

“Look at it this way—we’re in a beautiful hotel room in a beautiful city, surrounded by beautiful skaters. Skaters you’ve admired for half your life. We have alcohol, we have music, we have your best friend drunk off his ass and ready to make a fool of himself—this is something that’s probably never going to happen again, and I want you to enjoy this night with no regrets. You have my blessing to do what feels good for you.”

Phichit slid his arms around Leo, letting himself get folded into his embrace. “You feel good for me.”

“I’m glad.”

“What will you do, though, if I end up fooling around with Chris?”

“Watch.” Leo hadn’t missed a beat.

Phichit pulled away to look up at him. “You don’t have your eyes on anyone else?”

“None of them are my type but you,” Leo said. “Not that I think they’d take any interest in me, anyway.”

“No one?” Phichit asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not even Victor?”

“I wouldn’t kick him out of the bed if he wanted me there, but he’s a bit out of my league. Too intimidating. Not to mention I’d be surprised if Yuuri lets anyone else touch him.”

Phichit giggled. “You’re probably right. I wouldn’t want you to feel neglected, though…”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll take care of me, sooner or later,” Leo said. “Are you admitting you want this?”

Phichit looked aside. “I’m admitting… there’s a chance. I didn’t even consider it a possibility until you two started pestering me about it, though. I was just having fun.”

“Well, just know you have our blessing to have _more_ fun, if you want to.” Leo kissed his cheek. “I’ll let you finish getting ready. I should probably make sure they know we didn’t abandon them for our own fun.” He winked, and left.

Phichit didn’t know what he wanted. What was meant to be a relaxing evening after the banquet suddenly turned him into a bundle of nerves. The truth was, he _did_ like Chris. Chris was sexy all over, from his eyes to his voice to his hard, graceful body. He was taller even than Victor, and his presence almost demanded attention without him having to say or do anything. He flirted like breathing. He flattered Phichit, complimenting Guang-Hong’s costumes and talking at length about the work he and Yuuri had done for their catalog. He knew just what to say to swell Phichit’s pride, and the feeling had been addictive.

Phichit had exchanged numbers with him the first night they’d met. At the time he’d hardly given it any thought—Chris seemed like good friend material, and Phichit was a big enough fan that there was no way he’d turn down an offer like that. But had there been a reason, a deeper meaning behind that offer?

Phichit wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. He leaned towards the mirror again, scrutinizing his face and hair for imperfections more thoroughly than he’d originally planned. Finding nothing else to work on, Phichit took a centering breath, and left the bathroom.

Their two-bedroom hotel suite had a large sitting room at its center, a place perfect for one of Leo’s signature parties, though this one would be significantly smaller than most. The sound system had already been set up with a low, unobtrusive background of smooth jazz, and drinks had been poured for everyone, including one sitting at the bar for Phichit. He snatched it and joined the others at the cluster of couches by the window.

“Look who decided to join us,” Leo teased. “I was wondering if you fell in.”

Phichit stuck his tongue out and slid onto the couch beside Leo, sipping his drink. Chris lounged on the couch adjacent to them, while Yuuri and Victor covered most of the couch across. Victor was draped across Yuuri’s lap, Yuuri’s hands buried somewhere beneath Victor’s jacket, moving in a slow, persistent motion. Both of them looked appropriately drunk, with two unfinished cocktails on the table in front of them.

“Did we scare away your fiancé?” Phichit asked Chris.

Chris chuckled, low and pleasant. “No, not at all. He got a call from a friend who invited him for some late-night drinks. It’s not an opportunity they get very often.”

“Is this ‘friend’ the one I’m thinking of?” Victor asked, his voice breathy and slow.

“Probably,” Chris answered. “Don’t be jealous, now.”

Victor’s legs shifted—he was practically squirming under Yuuri’s touch. “What’s there to be jealous of?”

“Why would Victor be jealous?” Leo asked, echoing Phichit’s thoughts.

Victor opened his mouth to protest, “I’m not—”

“Because they were once lovers,” Chris said with a pointed look at Victor.

Yuuri stilled. “Who was it?”

“A fellow figure skater,” Chris said. “Though he retired some time ago. Works as a coach now.”

“I used to look up to him,” Victor said.

“Oh, you absolutely did,” Chris said, crossing his long legs. “I recall seeing you look up to him in the locker room a number of times.”

Yuuri made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded almost like a growl. Victor turned and murmured something in his ear, probably a reassurance.

Chris gave a melodramatic sigh. “Such a bittersweet breakup. You two were almost good together.”

“Hardly,” Victor huffed. “He didn’t know what he was letting go.”

“You both thought far too highly of yourselves, in my opinion,” Chris said. “But you _were_ a handsome couple. Even _I_ found myself jealous.”

“Jealous of which?” Phichit wanted to know.

Chris shrugged elegantly. “Both of them. I was young and single at the time, and those two were hogging all the attention I wanted.”

“So your fiancé and him… Were they just friends, or…?” Yuuri was clearly drunk, his words slurred.

Chris took a long drink, looking aside. “Not my information to disclose, my dear.”

“How did you all keep it from the public?” Phichit asked. “Yuuri was Victor’s number one fan, and even he didn’t know Victor was dating anyone.”

“Mutual trust,” Chris said. “It was difficult to be out, back then. People could guess all they liked, but when it came to anything that could be taken as a confirmation, our lips were sealed shut.”

“So you’re not jealous that your fiancé is out with someone else rather than you?” Leo asked.

Chris laughed. “No, not at all. We spend most of our time outside competitions together—getting some time apart is healthy for us.”

“How—” Phichit’s voice squeaked. He cleared his throat, trying not to seem too embarrassed. “How does it work for you? Do you really just… fool around with whoever you want, and there’s no hard feelings?”

Chris uncrossed his legs and turned his entire attention towards Phichit, suddenly making him feel like they were the only two in the room. His eyes glittered with something—possibly drink, possibly interest, Phichit couldn’t tell—and when he spoke, it was surprisingly soft and kind. “Ours is an unconventional relationship, I suppose, but it’s one built on long years of working together. We know each other’s passions as well as our own, and when it comes to pursuing them, we never hold each other back. Often we’re too busy to actually seek out other lovers, but when opportunities present themselves, it’s easy for us to say yes to each other. It would be one thing if we were pursuing strangers every night, or going after people who have hurt us, but our lovers are often those we’ve been with before and trust, or those we know through friends.” His eyes darted towards Yuuri before returning to Phichit. “I understand how some can come to jealousy, even when they trust their partners completely, and I don’t fault anyone for it. But for us, monogamy would have been like a cage.”

“So why get married, then?” Leo asked.

Chris touched the gold band on his finger. “Because I want to spend my life with him. We’re tethered together, and no matter how far we might stray from one another for a night or two, we will always snap back together like a rubber band. I wanted him to know that I’ll return to him for the rest of my life.”

Sudden tears stung Phichit’s eyes, so intense that he had to look away to hide them. “That’s so beautiful,” he choked. “I hope you two have an amazing life together.” God. He must’ve been drunker than he realized.

Chris reached over and patted Phichit’s thigh. “We already do,” he said with a grin. “But thank you.”

Victor made a sudden sound that made Phichit jump, nearly sloshing his hardly-touched drink. It sounded like a yelp.

Yuuri had his hand down Victor’s pants now, the impression of his fist visible against the fabric, moving slowly up and down. He wore an expression that Phichit had never seen before on his roommate—a commanding, sure gaze that said he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was going to keep doing it at all costs. He met Phichit’s eyes, and his lips stretched into a slow, menacing smile.

Heat rose quickly to Phichit’s face, and he turned away from the display, trying to ignore them.

“Do you two… want to use the other bedroom?” Leo asked awkwardly.

“I can’t imagine they do,” Chris said, clearly amused. “But for courtesy’s sake, Yuuri, could you at least take it to that corner over there, so we might continue our conversation?” He tilted his head towards the shadowed corner of the room where a white settee and table sat away from everyone else.

Yuuri looked offended at Chris’s suggestion, but he reclaimed his hand and pushed Victor off his lap. They gathered their drinks and stumbled their way over to the corner, where they immediately started making out against the wall.

“This is a new thing for them,” Chris said quietly to Phichit and Leo. “They could do with a little indulgence right now.”

“Looks like they’ve done plenty of indulging tonight already,” Leo commented warily.

“Says the master of drunken sex,” Phichit teased. “They’re fine. I’m glad Yuuri’s been able to let loose a little more.”

“Is he normally more reserved, then?” Chris asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Leo said. “He almost never comes to my parties, and if he does, he hardly talks to anyone.”

Phichit thought about keeping his mouth shut, but decided it would be better to speak up for his friend. “Yuuri just doesn’t do well with your crowd, Leo. He’s fine when he’s with people he knows. He’s even more fine with a bit of alcohol in him.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” Leo said with a laugh.

Chris smiled. “He strikes me as someone who needs just a tad more confidence. Not too much, though, or his ego might get in the way of things.”

“I feel the same,” Phichit said. “He’s gotten better since I’ve known him, letting himself open up to people a bit more. Victor might be helping, too, at least when it comes to the confidence thing.”

“Hard not to feel a little more confident when a man like that publicly declares his love for you,” Leo said.

“Were you two fans of his before he came to America?” Chris asked.

“We were more general skating fans,” Phichit answered. “I didn’t really have favorites—well, aside from Guang-Hong, of course. I cheered for everyone, though, especially the underdogs. I admired Victor’s skating, but it always felt like he had enough fans.”

Chris smirked. “What about me?”

Phichit cocked an eyebrow. “Fishing for compliments?”

“Hardly,” Chris laughed. “I’m just curious if you ever spared a thought for me.”

Phichit breathed a laugh, and looked down, fingering a wrinkle in his pants. “I always liked your aura. No matter what sort of song you were skating to, I always felt like you were skating as yourself. Like—you always seemed to bring something to the performance that no one else could.”

Leo nodded, and Phichit thought he might have something else to add, but he leaned in and put a hand on Phichit’s shoulder. “I’m going to go check up on Guang-Hong and freshen up.”

Phichit blinked, surprised. “Are you sure? Do you want me to come?”

“I think dinner might not be agreeing with me as much as I hoped,” Leo said with a grimace. “You two stay and talk. Make sure those two don’t make too big of a mess.” He gestured to Yuuri and Victor, whose hands were openly exploring beneath their clothes again. “I’ll try to be back later, but no promises.”

Phichit knew Leo was abandoning him on purpose. He tried to silently communicate that this wasn’t what he had in mind, but Leo simply winked and went off to their bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Phichit angrily tried to drain his drink, but there was far too much left, and his throat started to burn before he could get it all down. He coughed, his hand trembling as he lowered his glass, creating a louder sound than he wanted to as it hit the table.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asked.

Phichit shook his head, plastering on a smile. “It’s nothing.”

“Now, I might be the outsider here, but I know the smell of bullshit. Are you upset to be left alone with me?”

“No!” Phichit cried. “I promise it’s nothing like that.”

Chris leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee. “Tell me about it, _cheri_. You were fine at dinner, and now you’re all tense. What’s on your mind?”

Phichit felt himself coming apart at Chris’s intense gaze. “It’s… stupid stuff, really. Leo was just trying to make me happy, but he’s not the best at listening to me.”

“You might need to catch me up on your relationship, first,” Chris said. “I can only make guesses, but I sense there’s more than I’m seeing.”

“Oh, well…” Phichit looked down at his shoes, wondering how much to say. “Leo, Guang-Hong, and I are… sort of together.”

“Sort of?”

“We _are_ together,” Phichit declared more confidently. “But it’s all still a bit new and strange. We’re still figuring things out.”

“Is this your first polyamorous relationship?”

“Technically, it’s my first _anything_ relationship,” Phichit admitted reluctantly. “I mean, I’ve dated a lot before, but this is the first time I’ve ever been in something committed. The three of us have been close friends for over five years, so it’s not like we don’t know each other. I love them to death, but sometimes I feel like they don’t understand me, like tonight.”

“What happened tonight that has you so upset?”

Phichit squeezed his eyes shut, angry at himself for walking into that. “It’s really not worth talking about.”

“I’m not going to force it out of you, but it seems like you want to talk about it, even if you’re telling yourself you don’t,” Chris said mildly. “All I’m offering is an ear.”

Phichit smiled shyly. “You’re too good at reading people.”

“You make yourself easy to read,” Chris said. “At least around me.”

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Phichit said. “But—well, I guess I’m not all that aware of myself. Which it seems is part of my problem.”

“What problem?”

Phichit took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It’s… Well, I’m really glad to have met you. I’m trying not to gush too much, but it’s not often I get along with someone so well from a first meeting.”

Chris leaned back, his smile just a little smug.

“And, well… God, this is so awkward.” Phichit looked up to the ceiling, rubbing his neck while he wondered how best to phrase it. “Guang-Hong and Leo both thought I was really into you. Which might be true, even if I didn’t realize it at first, but tonight they started…pushing me in your direction. It made me nervous. I thought we could just be good friends, but I think they saw something different.”

“When you say they were pushing you in my direction…”

Phichit shifted uncomfortably. “They were giving me permission to fool around with you. Which honestly was the last thing on my mind until they said it. I just enjoyed talking to you.”

Chris’s eyes flashed with something interesting, but it was gone before Phichit could read it. “And you’re upset they planted that thought into your mind, potentially ruining what might have otherwise been a good night of conversation.”

“Yes, exactly!” Phichit cried. “You get it. I knew things would be a little more intimate up here, especially since _Leo_ invited everyone, but I figured it would mostly be between those two.” He spared just a glance at Yuuri and Victor, their bodies moving in the shadows on top of the settee. Some clothing had been removed, but Phichit didn’t care to look long enough to determine just how much.

“They’ve certainly been leading up to it most of the night,” Chris said, watching them with a smile. “I admit I had no idea what to expect when we were invited up here, but I knew I was willing, if only for the potential… _conversation_.” That word dripped with so many implications Phichit couldn’t pick out what exactly he meant.

He decided to ignore it for now. “Anyways, I’m… sorry for being weird.”

“Don’t be,” Chris said, putting his full attention back on Phichit. “You’re lovely to talk to. I admit that I, too, hoped we might get to know each other better, since our time here is so short.”

Despite his nerves, Phichit felt relieved to hear that.

“I apologize if I’m making you in any way uncomfortable, though. Even if I’m not at fault, I would hate to be the source of your discomfort. If you’d like me to leave, feel free to say so.”

Phichit shook his head. “No, I was just annoyed at Leo for being so blatant. Now that the air is cleared, I’m fine. I could stay here all night. That is—if you even want to. It’ll probably be just me for a while, since _those_ _two_ are occupied.” As if on cue, Victor let out a sudden, audible moan that gave Phichit strange shivers, like he was embarrassed and turned-on at once.

“I’ve got nowhere else to be tonight,” Chris said. “And if I’m perfectly honest, I have no reason to wish for anyone else’s company but yours.”

Phichit flushed. He loved Chris’s way with words, his manner of speaking sometimes unusual but always sensuous, full of intrigue and double meanings and tonal shifts that made Phichit feel things. “May I join you?” he asked impulsively.

Chris slid over, giving Phichit space to sit beside him. He chose to sit close, just a scant inch between them, and set his drink down on the table. “You did really well today. I thought you were going to win.”

Chris chuckled, low and smooth. “I always think I’m going to win, but somehow, I rarely do.”

“The judges don’t know sensuality when they see it,” Phichit said.

“Or it makes them uncomfortable,” Chris said. “I know the bias against me. I’ve known it for years. I can only win when I perform so flawlessly they can’t ignore me.”

“Have you ever tried to challenge it?” Phichit asked.

Chris shrugged. “I can complain all I want, and they’ll just tell me what they believe I’m doing wrong. But the things they want me to change aren’t things I’m ever willing to compromise on.”

“Are they asking you to tone it down?”

“Among other nonsense suggestions, like wearing more conventional costumes.”

“Fuck them, then,” Phichit spat. “It’s their loss if they can’t see the beauty in what you do.”

“Unfortunately, love, it’s still my loss, too.” Chris stretched his arms up, letting them land on the back of the couch. Phichit had to resist the urge to snuggle into his side, like he might’ve done with Leo. “But I’ve done well enough, I think. At my age, the cheers and flowers taste better than the medals.”

“Still, I know you want to win as much as everyone else,” Phichit said. “And honestly, I think you deserve to.”

“Your Guang-Hong deserved his medal,” Chris said. “He might be more inclined to play by the rules, but he’s unique in his own way. He has a clear joy for performance that I find too rare in competitions, and your beautiful costumes help that joy shine through.”

Phichit never really knew what to say to compliments like that, especially when Chris paid them so freely. “It’s all him, really. I just know what looks good on him.”

“That’s a talent all its own,” Chris said smoothly. He put his big hand on Phichit’s thigh. “You do good work.”

Air crackled between them, Phichit’s body warming up alarmingly fast at the casual-but-clearly-intentional rubbing. He reached for his drink in an attempt to calm down.

Yuuri let out a long groan from his corner, really highlighting the mood in the room. Phichit kept an iron hand on his composure as he sipped the alcohol. “Did you mention you might want to commission us? I can squeeze you in for next season, if you’re interested.”

Chris removed his hand as he turned away slightly, and Phichit wondered if he’d said something wrong. Chris let out a long breath. “I don’t think I’m going to skate next season.”

“You’re retiring?!”

Chris grimaced, glancing over at Yuuri and Victor. “Not so loud. It hasn’t been announced yet. And it likely won’t be until after the season’s over.”

“No way…” Phichit breathed in disbelief. “I thought you had at least two, maybe three years left.”

“I never wanted to be the oldest skater on the ice,” Chris said. “Victor allowed me to feel like I was young enough to keep going, but I know that once he leaves, I’ll start to feel my age. I can’t compete with these younger skaters.”

Though he didn’t like it, Phichit could at least understand the sentiment. “But you weren’t planning on doing anything special? No big exhibition skate or anything?”

“I didn’t want to steal Victor’s spotlight,” Chris said. “A career like his deserves a good ending. Mine doesn’t.”

“Bullshit,” Phichit spat. “You deserve it just as much as he does.”

Chris smiled sadly. “Victor is a legend. I lived too long in his shadow to really make a name for myself. My fans will understand if I go out quietly.”

“Uh, have you _met_ your fans?” Phichit asked incredulously. “They’ll be the first to yell at you if you don’t give them a proper send off. You’ve set their expectations too high for them to be content with anything less. And what’s this about living in Victor’s shadow? I might not have my nose in every corner of the fandom, but I haven’t seen a comment like that in _years._ Maybe you’ve felt that way because he’s hard to beat, but I don’t think anyone else does. And if they do, they’re wrong.”

For the first time since they’d met, Chris seemed thrown off-guard, staring at Phichit with widened eyes.

“In my opinion,” Phichit went on, too worked-up to stop himself, “if you’re already dead set on retiring, you should do something big. Something flashy. Something… something to give a huge fuck you to the judges who never gave you what you deserved.”

Chris rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I would have to develop something fast, then, to have it ready in time for Worlds.”

“Come on, you have full-time access to your choreographer,” Phichit said. “And if you need a costume…”

Chris shook his head. “I could never ask you to do something on such short notice like that.”

“You didn’t ask, I offered, and I’m almost positive I could do it. I’ve worked on far tighter deadlines before.” Phichit set down his drink and grabbed Chris’s hand, clasping it between his own. “Please, let me help with this. I’d love to be a part of it.”

Chris slid his fingers around one of Phichit’s hands and brought it to his lips. The kiss was slow and sensual, the softness pressing into Phichit’s skin and lingering a few long seconds. “Let me think it over at home, and if you’re still convinced you want to help with my costume, I’ll call you. I’d hate for such important decisions to be made in the heat of the moment.”

Never had a hand kiss left Phichit so breathless. Chris didn’t release him right away, instead letting his warm thumb roll to the inside of Phichit’s wrist. That small gesture awakened Phichit’s body again, making him want _something,_ even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Chris’s eyes turned hungry, watching Phichit’s face intently as he continued rubbing the sensitive skin of his wrist. Phichit slowly melted under that gaze, tilting his head up as he leaned forward, pulled in by Chris’s sensuous gravity.

“Are you sure you want this?” Chris asked, so close Phichit could feel his hot breath on his face.

 _Yes!_ Phichit wanted to scream. But instead he closed the gap between them, pressing their mouths together in a hungry fever. Phichit breathed him in, tasting the sour alcohol on his tongue, his body moving of its own accord as he turned to straddle Chris’s lap. Big hands grasped his backside, fingertips digging into his thighs as Phichit held Chris’s head in his hands to keep steady.

Phichit had no idea the why or how of what he wanted, he simply knew he wanted it, the drink swimming in his veins making it easy to ignore the intrusive thoughts. Chris’s body was pure sex, hard and soft at once, and Phichit _needed_ it. Chris broke the kiss and put his hands on Phichit’s hips, urging him lower.

Phichit smiled slyly, getting the message. He spread his knees wider and lowered himself onto Chris’s lap. It didn’t take much pressure to find what he was looking for, the bulge so prominent he could feel it pulsing against him even through his pants.

Chris hummed, low and deep. “Are you a dancer?”

Phichit began to move, rolling his hips forward and back in a smooth circular motion. “Hardly. But I do yoga.”

“Your control is beautiful,” Chris fawned. “You should be a skater.”

Phichit let out a laugh from deep in his throat. “You want me as competition?”

“I would have been honored to compete with you.”

“Flatterer.” Phichit pulled his hips back, letting his own crotch rub against Chris’s. “Tell me why you want this.”

“Why?” Chris laughed. “Because you’re beautiful. Irresistible, almost.” His fingers dug into Phichit’s hips as he leaned in close, his voice low and intense. “And you’ve had your eyes on me since the moment we met. Nothing sexier than mutual interest.”

“You noticed, then?”

“Of course.” Chris leaned back again and started lazily undoing the buttons of Phichit’s silk shirt. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice _my_ interest. I sought you out whenever you were nearby.”

“And I naively thought it was coincidence.” Phichit threw his head back with a moan as Chris’s hand slipped inside his shirt. His deft fingers wasted no time finding a nipple.

Through his eyelashes Phichit could see Yuuri and Victor in the corner, their bodies moving in a clumsy, drunken rhythm, their heavy breathing barely audible over the music. A strange sight, to be sure, but Phichit couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them.

Chris craned his neck to see what caught Phichit’s attention. He grinned. “They’re having fun, aren’t they?”

“They’re not the only ones,” Phichit said, pressing down again until Chris gave a satisfying groan. “Though I envy their ability to ignore us.”

“I very much doubt they’re ignoring us completely,” Chris said breathily. He pinched Phichit’s nipple, making him yelp. “They want us as an audience.”

“Nnn… Is that so?” Phichit tried his hardest to maintain coherent thoughts, but Chris’s hands were making it difficult. “Maybe I should make it harder to ignore us, then.” To illustrate, Phichit moaned again loudly into Chris’s touch.

Hands continued to roam their bodies, their shirts pushed so far out of the way they slid off of shoulders and were eventually abandoned on the floor. For Phichit, the urgent fever had died down a little, and while he was still enjoying himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

“Tell me how much you want,” Chris whispered. “How far do you want to go, _mon chéri?”_

That question had crossed his mind several times that night, but it wasn’t until he was asked that Phichit knew what he wanted. “Let me service you,” Phichit said, trailing his fingertips down Chris’s beautifully sculpted chest, making his meaning clear.

“With pleasure,” Chris said. He stroked Phichit’s cheek, then pressed his thumb against his bottom lip. “Though I should warn you—I’m not for beginners.”

Phichit lowered his eyes and nipped Chris’s thumb. “Good thing I’m not a beginner, then.” He climbed off the couch and fell to his knees, settling into the space between those muscled legs. Chris leaned back and slid his hips forward, giving Phichit just a little better access.

Phichit knew he’d be dealing with a monster based on what he could see through Chris’s tight pants, but those hints could only prepare him so well.  Pants undone, Chris’s thick, leaky cock jutted out of the side of his thong, making the tiny underwear look terribly insufficient.

“Not for beginners,” Phichit murmured contentedly, his lips pressed against the thong’s silky fabric, just above the base. Chris’s neatly-trimmed sack spilled out of either side, painting an unusual-but-appealing picture of his features. Phichit wanted to see more. “Should we get these out of the way?”

There was no graceful way to remove pants so tight, but Phichit kept his eyes on the prize to make things a little less awkward, even as he moved out of the way so that Chris could pull them off his massive calves. Phichit allowed himself a few long seconds to admire the fully-naked form of Olympic Silver Medalist Christophe Giacometti, secretly wishing he could take a commemorative photo, before lowering back down to his knees.

“Like what you see?” Chris asked softly.

Was there a hint of uncertainty there? Phichit couldn’t tell. He didn’t sound arrogant at all. “I’ve never seen anyone like you up close before,” he answered in a whisper, ghosting his lips along the inside of Chris’s thigh. “I might never again. I feel like I should savor the experience.” He would never voice the intrusive thought bouncing around his head that Chris looked very much like some of the men in his favorite porn videos, but he let the images color the experience anyway.  

Chris’s thick cock pulsed against his belly, and without the thong to distract him, Phichit could finally assess just how big he was. When Yuuri had drunkenly hinted at its size just once before, Phichit wondered if he’d exaggerated. Clearly, he hadn’t. Phichit didn’t fancy himself a size queen, but he had preferences, and Chris definitely fit comfortably within them.

Phichit didn’t waste much time teasing—he was too impatient for that. After coating as much of it in his saliva as he could reach, Phichit licked his lips, and spread them over the shiny head of Chris’s cock. At first he pretended he couldn’t handle it, making a muffled groan and bobbing his head just along the top. Chris gave Phichit an encouraging smile, threading fingers through his hair. Phichit smiled back with his eyes, opened his jaw wider, and slowly slid down the length. Closing his eyes, he opened his throat, and kept going until he could feel Chris’s trimmed pubes against his nose.

Chris gave an impressed hum. “Not a beginner, then.”

Phichit began to move, egged on by Chris’s gentle petting of his hair. Long, slow strokes, his jaw muscles slowly relaxing into it. There was nothing quite like giving head to someone for the first time. Phichit loved to feel that hot, pulsing flesh fill his mouth, loved to smell that deep musk usually hidden by soap and cologne. When he gave his blowjobs, it was a different sort of satisfaction than being touched—it was wildly sensuous, and fed that deep part of him that thrived on giving people pleasure.

After a long few minutes of Phichit bobbing his head, Chris gave two short tugs to his hair—the near-universal symbol for him to lift up.

“I don’t make it a habit to request this, especially not the first night I’m with someone…” Chris trailed off, looking uncertain.

Phichit released his cock with a pop. He loved that he could make the legendary Christophe Giacometti look shy. “What would you like, lover?”

“Only say yes if you want this,” Chris said, his hand stroking the back of Phichit’s head. “But I would love to fuck that beautiful mouth of yours.”

“Oh.” Phichit used his hand to wipe the excess saliva off his lips, thinking it over. That was usually something he only allowed Leo to do, but nothing about this encounter was usual. It wasn’t any more intimate than what he’d already agreed to, but it required more trust. “As long as you’re not too rough.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Don’t be too gentle, either,” Phichit said with a wink. He reached over and took a few sips of his drink, and massaged his aching crotch. He hadn’t been fully erect since climbing off of Chris’s lap, but his arousal came and went, and his formal pants offered little freedom of movement.

Chris got to his feet, his tall frame infinitely more imposing when viewed from the floor. He shifted his balance, and pressed his thick erection against Phichit’s lips.

Phichit eased away. “One thing, though. Don’t cum on my face.” _That_ was a special gift only granted to Leo—Phichit didn’t hate it, but it was a sight meant for Leo’s eyes only, not a new friend.

“Where would you like, then?”

“Mmm… I won’t get mad if it’s down my throat, but my chest or the floor might be better.”

“I’ll do my best,” Chris said softly. He pressed himself against Phichit’s lips again, and Phichit opened his mouth to accommodate him.

Phichit always lost track of time when he did this. Letting himself be used was a special kind of pleasure, but one that he couldn’t think too hard about without feeling conflicted. Chris began gently, but as he lost himself to the throes of pleasure, those thrusts grew more forceful and rapid. He varied his pace, clearly trying to savor the experience, but it wasn’t long before he pulled away with a grunt, hand going to his slick, throbbing member.

Phichit gracefully leaned back, rested his weight on his palms, and presented his bare torso as a canvas. Chris cried out in a strangled moan, and hot drops sprayed in every direction to coat Phichit’s chest and stomach. Chris pumped himself a few more times, then collapsed on the couch in a gasping heap.

Phichit didn’t really know where to go from there. The drops had cooled and were quickly traveling towards his pants, tickling his skin and making him shudder. He was just deciding to get up when a tissue box was brought to his nose.

Leo. Phichit smiled and plucked a few tissues. “Thanks. You were watching?”

“I warned you I would,” Leo murmured. He helped Phichit clean up, then pulled him to standing.

Phichit rubbed at his aching knees, then stretched out his arms.

“I take it my work here is done?” Chris asked, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Leo offered. “Help yourself to another drink. I think we’re headed to bed, though.”

Phichit was slightly annoyed at having it already decided for him, but the idea of going to bed with Leo was too appealing to argue.

Chris wiped at his brow, then leaned forward to take Phichit’s hand. “Thank you for the lovely night. I hope we can keep in touch.” He kissed Phichit’s knuckles, and released him. “I think I’ll put those two to bed and head back to my hotel room.”

Phichit had forgotten about Victor and Yuuri. They were still draped over the settee, but their bodies had stopped moving, a light snore coming from one of them. Probably Victor, since Phichit was sure he’d have recognized Yuuri’s snore.

“Thanks, I’ll leave them to you,” Leo said cheerfully. He had a firm hand on Phichit’s hip, and steered him towards their bedroom. “Goodnight.”

“I—I’ll text you,” Phichit stammered over his shoulder. “About what we talked about before.”

Chris chuckled. “I look forward to it.”

Leo closed the door behind them. Guang-Hong was splayed out on the bed, his small frame taking up far more than his share, as usual, but there was still plenty of room for two more. How did anyone even find sheets for a bed that large?

A soft kiss fluttered against Phichit’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Phichit smiled. “Fine.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Phichit had to think about it for a moment—his head was swimming. “Yes. He was very sexy.”

Leo grinned. “I knew it. You’re drunk.”

“Not—not drunk,” Phichit insisted with a laugh. He tried to push Leo playfully, but nearly fell himself. Leo caught him. “Maybe a little.”

Leo pushed a cold bottle into Phichit’s hands. “Water. Drink. You were beautiful, by the way.”

“How long were you watching?”

“I popped in about the time you climbed into his lap.”

Phichit hadn’t known how much he needed the water until the coolness hit the pit of his stomach, and he hungrily downed half the bottle in one go. “Did Chris notice you?”

“Almost immediately.”

“How did _I_ not notice you?”

“You were obviously preoccupied,” Leo said. “And I was at the bar.”

The mood lighting in the room had left the bar mostly in shadows, so it made sense. As focused as he was on Chris, there was no way he’d notice Leo back there. After another gulp of water, Phichit’s head swam again, and he had to sit on the edge of the bed. “So, did you like watching me with another guy?”

“At first my feelings were pretty mixed,” Leo admitted, plopping down next to him. “Watching you make out with him just made me wish you were on my lap instead. And I admit it was a little strange to hear you praise another man’s dick. At least—outside of a porn video.”

“You saw it, though, didn’t you?”

Leo sighed, and stole a gulp from Phichit’s bottle. “Yes.”

“So you hated watching us?”

Leo shook his head. “This was only at first. By the middle I was cheering you on, because he clearly wasn’t expecting you to be _that_ good.”

Phichit couldn’t help but giggle. “He was impressed, wasn’t he?”

“At the end, though… Maybe I was seeing it wrong, but it looked like you weren’t having as much fun as usual.”

Phichit’s smile faded. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it…”

“I wonder if we got it wrong. Maybe we shouldn’t have pushed you—”

“No, I—I didn’t know what to expect, either,” Phichit said. “Chris was _really_ sexy, and I did want it at first, but I don’t… It just wasn’t the same. I tried not to think about it too hard at the time, but by the end I couldn’t think of anything else. I don’t love him, and without that love, it really felt… hollow.”

“Do you think it would be different if you were closer friends? Like you are with Yuuri?”

Phichit shrugged. “Maybe. Or…maybe I’m just not cut out for that sort of thing.” Phichit felt like he had more to say, more feelings to voice, but he was having difficulty picking them out.

“Do you regret it?”

Phichit looked down at his thighs. “No. I feel like it was something I needed to figure out, and I couldn’t figure it out without trying it. But I think you’ve spoiled me to casual sex—I just don’t enjoy it as much.”

Leo lowered his lashes, looking at Phichit intimately. “Is it bad that hearing that makes me a little happy?”

“I think you’ve earned it,” Phichit said breathily, leaning into Leo’s soft kiss. They parted, but Phichit remained close, hooking his fingertips into the collar of Leo’s shirt. “You’re longer, by the way.”

“Now you’re just stroking my ego.”

“It’s true,” Phichit insisted. “It might not be a dramatic difference, but I know how far you go, and he… didn’t measure up.”

Leo gave a low laugh. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not. I gave him enough praise. But you… I just like you better.” Phichit kissed him again, slow and sloppy, their tongues dancing briefly before Leo eased away.

“What do you want from me, love?”

“I feel… unfulfilled,” Phichit said. “I was hoping you could finish the job.”

“You’re not too sleepy?”

“Not if you do all the work.”

Leo grinned seductively. “I think I can manage.”

With Guang-Hong still tucked into one side of the bed, Phichit removed the rest of his clothes and spread out on the other side. As he watched Guang-Hong’s sleeping form, he began to wonder if maybe he _did_ want to sleep instead. But Leo’s toned, naked form soon enveloped him, and Phichit’s body took over his mind once again.

The sensations were so familiar that Phichit nearly zoned out—not out of boredom or tiredness, but simply the comfort of knowing what was coming. Leo’s hands knew just how to open him up, and Phichit lost all sense of time. The alcohol made his thoughts swirl, remembering the laughter and dancing at the banquet, the taste of the fries at the place they’d eaten for lunch, the odd way Leo smiled at Victor, almost like he was afraid of him. Chris’s hands on his ass. Yuuri’s moans. The smell that still clung to his chest.

The moment was brought back into focus as Leo entered him, smoothly and slowly but still an intrusion his body had to adjust to.

“Are you alright?” Leo asked.

Phichit nodded. “Yeah. You’re good.” It hadn’t even been two days since the last time.

Leo lifted Phichit’s thighs, and Phichit took his cue to drape his legs across Leo’s shoulders. There was a time when Leo hadn’t been so broad, Phichit remembered. When they’d first met years ago, Leo hadn’t been too much taller than Phichit himself. A late growth spurt had sent him just shy of six feet, and while he paid for it with a few stretch marks, his confidence had gone up tenfold. He started working out to tone his body, grew out his hair, and adopted Phichit’s skincare regimen. Phichit thought he could rival most of the models he worked with, but Leo always stayed behind the camera.

Leo grazed Phichit’s insides, and all thought whooshed out of his brain. _This_ was what he’d been craving. This gentle closeness, this intimate connection, these familiar yet explosive sensations—no casual encounter could replace how safe Phichit felt with Leo. He could abandon all thought without worry for his partner, surrendering entirely to the pleasure of the moment. Phichit hadn’t known the contrast until tonight.

As Phichit felt his climax approaching, his patience crumbled. He gave Leo a pleading look, and Leo nodded his sweaty head, knowing what was needed. He drove into Phichit with intense force, increasing the pace, their bodies making obscene sounds as they pounded together. At just the right moment Leo leaned in, pushing Phichit’s legs closer to his body, making it harder for him to breathe. Phichit rapidly gasped for air, his body on fire as he seized with orgasm. Stars burst behind his eyes, and he was only vaguely aware of a wet hot stickiness coating his belly. Leo eased off without pulling out entirely, giving Phichit room to breathe again.

“Better?” Leo’s hand gently touched Phichit’s fingers where they rested on the bed.

Phichit laced them together. “Yeah. You good?” His voice came out in a croak.

Leo laughed. “You couldn’t tell?”

“I was somewhere else entirely,” Phichit said. “I could’ve guessed, but I just wanted to make sure.”

Leo carefully pulled out, and got up to go to the bathroom. When he returned, it was with a warm, wet washcloth, which he used to wipe Phichit’s chest.

“Don’t bother trying to get it perfect—I need a shower,” Phichit said groggily.

“You sure? You look absolutely wrecked.”

Phichit slowly got up. “And I feel like it, but I have just enough energy for a quick rinse.”

“I’ll join you, then. Can’t have you passing out on me.”

“I’m fine,” Phichit assured him, though as soon as he stood, the room began to spin.

Leo caught him. “Just a quick rinse.”

Phichit let Leo guide him through the shower. Though his head still swam, the warm water helped bring some thoughts into focus—namely, how much he loved Leo right then. Phichit would be the first to admit that he was stubborn about doing things himself, but even he knew he needed help tonight. Between the alcohol, the sex, the emotional swings, and the adrenaline rush of trying something new, he simply couldn’t function as his normal self. He had no energy left.

“I love you,” Phichit said suddenly.

Leo’s hands stilled where they rubbed soap onto Phichit’s shoulders. “I love you, too.”

“No, I mean—I _really_ love you,” Phichit said, turning around to face him. “Like, really. Completely.”

Leo chuckled. “You’re still drunk.”

“I’m not!” Phichit cried. “I’m… serious. I don’t… I don’t want to be without you.” Tears came unbidden to his eyes. Perhaps he _was_ still drunk, but the feelings felt no less urgent.

“You won’t be,” Leo said. He pulled Phichit against his chest, his skin wet and warm. “I’m sorry if tonight was too much for you.”

“It wasn’t,” Phichit said. The hug wasn’t the most comfortable, what with all the water and soap, but he returned it anyway. “I just—feel like I don’t do enough to let you know.”

“Let me know?”

“How I feel about you.”

Leo kissed the side of his head. “You do plenty. I promise, I know how you feel about me. Now let’s rinse off and get to bed.”

Phichit still felt like he was doing things wrong. He felt like he needed to do more, or say more, to let Leo know what was in his heart. But at that point he couldn’t think straight, and couldn’t be sure it _wasn’t_ the drink messing with his emotions. By the time his damp head hit the pillow, everything slipped from his grasp, and he was gone.

* * *

 

“Hey sleepyhead.”

Yuuri clung to the doorway of the second bedroom, an absolute vision of wrecked-ness. His sweat-stained hair was plastered across his oily forehead, and his red eyes had a puffy rim as they squinted at Phichit across the room.

“What time is it?” Yuuri croaked. “And where’s my phone?”

“It’s just after ten!” Phichit exclaimed, being too cheery on purpose. “Your phone’s over here by me, but I just plugged it in. It was dead.”

Yuuri ignored it and stumbled over to the bathroom, the second one that wasn’t attached the master bedroom. He’d half-expected there to be one in the second bedroom, too, but Phichit hadn’t checked. They hadn’t spent much time in the hotel, all things considered, and he hadn’t even known there _was_ a second bedroom until the third day, when Leo pointed it out.

Phichit sipped his coffee at the bar while he checked his phone, religiously saving every photo he could find of Guang-Hong, and archiving every news article about his win. He must’ve had thousands of photos collected from Guang-Hong’s competitions, not even counting Leo’s or the ones he took himself. Phichit could always tell at a glance how well Guang-Hong had done—in the photos of the past two days, he always looked like he was just on the edge of laughter, like the joy might burst out of him at any moment. Guang-Hong was never the type to hide what he was feeling, and Phichit honestly loved that about him.

Yuuri shuffled out of the bathroom, hissing at the crack of sunlight reaching through the curtains.

“Water bottles are in the fridge,” Phichit said helpfully.

“I can’t believe you guys have a fridge,” Yuuri said. He pulled out a bottle and downed almost the whole thing in one gulp, gasping for air just as he reached the last quarter of it. He finished it up and slammed the bottle down.

“Slow down, or you’ll get sick,” Phichit warned.

“I was already sick,” Yuuri groaned, grabbing another bottle from the fridge. He walked to the other side of the bar and sat down beside Phichit, his back to the evil sunbeam. He rested his head against the stone countertop. “Aah, that feels good.”

Phichit cringed. “There was aspirin in the bathroom.”

“Already took some,” Yuuri said.

“Where did you get sick?”

“I’m about ninety-percent sure it was just in the toilet last night,” Yuuri said. “My memory’s fuzzy, but I didn’t find anything else.”

“And how’s Victor doing?”

“He nearly elbowed me in the face when I tried to wake him up, so who knows?” Yuuri closed his eyes.

Phichit instinctively put his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, pushing the stubborn locks away from his face.

Yuuri sighed. “That feels nice.”

“I haven’t seen you this fucked up since New Year’s,” Phichit said. “How much of last night do you remember?”

“Funny enough, I think I remember just about all of it. Right up until Victor passed out on top of me, anyway. I don’t remember getting to bed.”

Phichit couldn’t help but blush. “I think Chris got you there, somehow.”

Yuuri’s eyes slowly opened, giving Phichit a pointed look. “Oh yeah. You and Chris. What was that about?”

“Ah, we—we were just fooling around.” Phichit tried to reclaim his hand, but Yuuri was quick to snatch it and put it back on top of his head. Phichit suppressed a laugh as he continued his petting.

Yuuri closed his eyes again. “Fooling around? Is that something you do?”

“No. And to be honest, I probably won’t from here on. It was… an experiment. A sort of failed one.”

“Was it bad?”

“Not bad, exactly…” Phichit grasped for the right words. “Just not for me, I think. I wasn’t cheating, by the way. Leo and Guang-Hong put me up to it.”

“I didn’t think you were.” Yuuri turned his head to the other side. “It was just unexpected. You made good background noise, for a while there.”

“I’ll bet _you_ enjoyed yourself, you absolute pervert,” Phichit scolded. “When exactly were you going to tell me about that kink of yours?”

Yuuri laughed sheepishly. “Right now? I dunno. I’m still figuring it out myself.”

“Chris hinted that you like people watching you.”

“Seems to be true.”

“I always knew you were secretly thirsty for attention,” Phichit said, plucking at Yuuri’s hair. “That way you love the camera when you’re just in the right mood…”

“Yeah…” Phichit expected Yuuri to argue, but he didn’t. “Where are the others?”

“Leo left a few hours ago to get some early morning photos of the city. Promised he’d come back with breakfast. Guang-Hong I expect will sleep late. He was really tired.”

“And Chris?”

“Left last night, I assume. I went to bed with Leo after we finished. He texted me this morning to thank me.”

“And what did you say?”

Phichit frowned. “I apologized. I was pretty quick to leave him after he finished.”

“No hard feelings, though?”

“Not as far as I can tell,” Phichit said. “I think he caught on pretty quick that I was feeling weird, at the end.”

“Chris is good at reading the mood,” Yuuri said. “What made you want to fool around with him, though?”

“Well, he’s sexy, and… I don’t know, he was kinda into me?” Phichit wasn’t entirely sure himself, and it was difficult to find words to explain it. “I didn’t actually think about it at all until Guang-Hong and Leo started talking about it. They put the idea in my head, and I decided to go with it and see what happened.”

“And you didn’t like it?”

“It was… fine. Pretty hot to make out with him, actually. And I don’t regret getting him naked, because… _phew._ ”

Yuuri laughed. “He’s your type.”

Phichit recoiled. “Excuse me, sir, how do _you_ know my type?”

Yuuri turned his head back and grinned. “You’re not exactly subtle. That, and you don’t hide your porn videos very well.”

“You went through my porn folder?!” Phichit cried. He thumped Yuuri’s shoulder. “Jackass!”

“Ow! It was an accident, I swear!”

“An accident? I’m sure!”

Yuuri groaned and clutched his head. “Don’t… don’t yell.”

“You deserve the headache,” Phichit said bitterly, but lowered his voice anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Okay, fine, I was curious,” Yuuri admitted. “It was a long time ago and I was too shy to ask you, alright?”

“Don’t go through my stuff.”

“I don’t _now_. It’s been almost a year since then.”

Phichit narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Why do you remember when…?”

Yuuri sighed. “Because the whole reason I was snooping on your laptop to begin with was to try and figure out what to get you for Christmas. Back then I still wasn’t sure you liked living with me, so I wanted to do something nice.”

Phichit’s brows furrowed, remembering last Christmas. “But how did you find out I wanted that coat from what you saw on my laptop?”

“I didn’t; the snooping was useless,” Yuuri said flatly. He buried his head in his arms. “You made a passing comment when you saw it in a catalog, so I bought it for you.”

“I didn’t know you fretted so much over it,” Phichit said, petting Yuuri’s hair a few more times. “But never touch my personal files again.”

“I saw more than enough the first time.”

Phichit gasped. “Yuuri Katsuki, tell me you didn’t see—”

“Chuchu?” A distant voice came from the bedroom.

“In here Jiji!” Phichit called, getting off his barstool. “This isn’t over,” he added in a hiss.

Yuuri turned his head back to Phichit, a shit-eating grin on his face. For good measure, Phichit gave another light punch to his shoulder before going to prepare a cup of coffee.

When Phichit made it back to the bedroom, Guang-Hong was sitting up, eyes staring unseeing at the curtained window.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Phichit asked, easing the door shut behind him.

“Enough for now,” Guang-Hong said, a slight smile on his face. “Can’t promise I won’t sleep on the plane ride back, though.”

“Better to sleep through as much of that as you can,” Phichit said. He handed Guang-Hong the mug, handle first. “Here. It’s not too hot.”

“Ah, that smells good.” Guang-Hong still blew on the rim before sipping. “Thanks. So tell me everything I missed last night. I want all the details.”

Phichit sat on the edge of the bed and ended up telling Guang-Hong everything—more than he’d even told Leo. It was easier to spill his feelings and uncertainty after he’d had more time to think about it.

“And you and Leo did it afterwards?” Guang-Hong asked. “I thought I was dreaming, but I think I heard you.”

“Yeah, we came back in here and I let Leo fuck me for a while. I felt like I needed to reconnect to him. Sorry if we woke you.”

Guang-Hong shrugged. “Clearly it didn’t bother me too much. I’m sorry the thing with Chris didn’t turn out all that great, though. Leo and I thought we were helping you live out a fantasy. We thought it would be a treat for you.”

Phichit smiled. “I know you two were just trying to make me happy. I’m sorry for snapping about it. I told Leo this already, but from now on, I’ll let you guys know if there’s anyone I might want to fool around with outside of us. I don’t think it’ll happen any time soon, but I’d rather not have you guys putting ideas in my head, especially not when I’m half-drunk. I’m too impressionable.”

Guang-Hong laughed. “Impressionable. That’s a good one.”

“I’m serious!” Phichit cried, though he laughed too.

Guang-Hong’s expression sobered. “But yeah—you won’t hear any more suggestions from me.”

“I’m curious, though—was there anyone _you’ve_ ever wanted to sleep with?”

“Outside of you two? Not for a long time.” Guang-Hong downed more of his coffee, looking thoughtful. “There was a girl I used to share time with at the rink, a couple of years back, that I briefly fantasized about. Nothing like fooling around, just… making her laugh. Kissing her. That sort of romantic stuff I didn’t really get back then. She was sweet, but she had a really tall boyfriend who she seemed happy with, so I didn’t really consider any steps beyond that. She moved away a while ago.”

“I had no idea,” Phichit said. “Do you still think about girls?”

“I mean, I _think_ about nearly everyone, on occasion. But you and Leo keep me happy, and skating keeps me busy, so I don’t even think all that often.”

Phichit lowered his eyes. “Do you think Leo does?”

“Who knows? We only know he used to.”

“Do you think we’re… holding him back?”

“If I’m completely honest, I think he needs some holding back for a while,” Guang-Hong said. “I never had a huge problem with him sleeping around, but he did it _a lot._ I kept wondering if he was chasing after something he wasn’t finding.”

“I hope he’s found something with us…”

Guang-Hong reached out and touched Phichit’s shoulder. “You know he has, Chuchu. He loves us. He wouldn’t have agreed to do this if he thought he couldn’t handle it.” His hand was warm as it traveled down Phcihit’s arm. “I don’t think you realize how good you are for him. You keep him grounded. He’s used to getting away with too many things, just because he’s rich, hot, and talented. You don’t let him get away with anything, and I think he realizes that’s good for him.”

Phichit smiled weakly. “I hope you’re right, Jiji.”

“I might be kinda dumb when it comes to this stuff, but I know I’m right about this. He needs you to bully him sometimes, just like you need him to take care of you when you’re hurting.” Guang-Hong put his coffee down on the nightstand and leaned forward, butting his head against Phichit’s side. “And you need me to have someone to spill your mind to.”

Phichit put his arms around him. “You know I need you for way more than that. Who else would get me to the gym three times a week? Who would I make costumes for?”

“You make costumes for all sorts of people…”

“But few people inspire me like you do,” Phichit said. “And you’re the only gold medalist I’ve ever had the pleasure of working for.”

“Too bad I can only seem to win the GPF.”

Phichit ruffled his hair. “I will never see that as anything short of amazing. Especially knowing how far you’ve come to get here.”

Guang-Hong breathed out a laugh. “I am pretty great, aren’t I?”

Phichit pulled him up, squeezing tight. “You’re beautiful and amazing and talented. I’ve never felt prouder, watching you perform your best out there. You’re one of the best skaters in the world, and now that you’ve done it twice in a row, no one can take that away from you.”

Guang-Hong broke free from the grip, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel like it at all. I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’ve been looking up to people like Victor and Christophe for so long… I can’t even imagine putting myself among them. Even Plisetsky and Otabek feel like they’re on a different level.”

“But you’ve beaten them. Multiple times.”

“It doesn’t matter… I want to get better. And don’t get me wrong, I like seeing my scores go up, but I want to _feel_ it in my bones that I deserve my win.”

“I _know_ you deserved your wins, but I also think I know what you mean,” Phichit said. “If you’re not on the level you want, then it’s good to chase it. But I think what you’re looking for can only be achieved with experience.”

“I think so, too.”

“You should talk to Victor before we have to leave,” Phichit suggested.

Guang-Hong froze. “What? I can’t do that!”

“You can, and you should,” Phichit said. “He’s not going to bite you, I promise. I just think his advice might be more helpful to you than anything Leo and I could say.”

“I don’t even know that I need advice…”

“You might someday, and you’ll be glad to have his number.” Phichit stood. “You better get dressed. Leo’s going to be back soon with breakfast for all of us.”

“All of us? Who’s still here?”

“Yuuri and Victor. Oh, I forgot to mention—they fucked in a corner until they passed out last night.”

Guang-Hong snorted. “Seriously? Now I’m _really_ sad I missed out.”

By the time Leo had arrived, Victor was awake, showered, and wearing a different set of clothes than last night. Phichit was sad he missed the fabled glory that was Victor’s bed head, but Yuuri had sneakily snapped a picture and showed Phichit over breakfast, calling it a ‘rare treasure’ for his collection.

Phichit successfully nudged Victor in Guang-Hong’s direction, and the two of them talked at length about skating, Guang-Hong’s smile going from nervous and shaking to genuine and laughing by the end.

Phichit liked having Victor around. It gave him hope that the five of them might be able to spend time together after Victor moved to Detroit—if that was still in his plans. He hoped so, and not just for Yuuri’s sake. Since they’d met, Victor had gone from an untouchable legend to a close friend to Phichit. He was surprisingly earnest and genuine, always gave more than he took, and had a bafflingly dorky side that Phichit desperately wanted to see more of. He was more sociable than Yuuri, too, and Phichit had hopes he might be the bridge that finally brought Yuuri closer to Leo and Guang-Hong.

“When are you three leaving?” Victor asked after they’d eaten.

“This afternoon,” Leo answered. “We have a late check-out, but we should probably be getting ready. Guang-Hong still needs to check in with his coach.” Guang-Hong, upon hearing the reminder, put down his coffee cup and ran off to the bedroom.

“You guys are staying an extra day, right?” Phichit asked Yuuri.

Yuuri nodded. “We leave the morning after tomorrow. Can I trust you to get things back up and running before I get back?”

Phichit put his hand to his forehead in a salute. “You can count on me, boss.”

Yuuri smiled, but something in his expression seemed strange. “Actually, can I—”

“Chuchu, I can’t find the bags for my costumes!” Guang-Hong cried from the bedroom.

“Let me take care of them!” Phichit called back. He turned back to Yuuri. “I should help him. Are you two headed out?”

The strange expression didn’t go away. Yuuri almost seemed worried about something. “Oh, ye-yeah. I guess this is goodbye, then?”

“For now,” Phichit said, and put his arms around his best friend. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

Victor came up behind Yuuri, the barest hint of a predatory glare in his eyes. “I’ll look after him, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Phichit said, pulling away. “Though I _am_ sad we couldn’t do more shopping together.”

“We’ll come back someday, when our schedules aren’t so tight,” Victor promised. “When we can come for pleasure, and leave the business behind.”

Phichit winked. “I’ll hold you to it. I guess I won’t be seeing _you_ for a while, will I?”

“Only in selfies,” Victor said, and opened his arms. Phichit took the offered hug eagerly. “Take care of yourself, and look after Yuuri in my absence.”

“You know I will,” Phichit said with a squeeze. “Skate well. I’ll be cheering you on from the other side of the world.”

“I’ll do my best,” Victor said, though his words felt a little uncertain. “I have my work cut out for me, at any rate.”

Phichit pulled back with a grin. “Show Plisetsky who the real ice king of Russia is, one last time.

* * *

 

Phichit: _made it to the gate_  
Phichit: _don’t let Victor run you completely ragged_  
Yuuri: _Too late._  
Yuuri: _Not really, but I feel kinda like hell after last night._  
Yuuri: _He won’t admit it, but since he hasn’t begged to take me out yet, I think he’s feeling the same._  
Phichit: _i’m sure you two can think of enough to entertain yourselves in the hotel room ;)_  
Yuuri: _True, but I’ll feel bad if that’s all we do._  
Phichit: _don’t think so hard about it_  
Phichit: _you’re together, just do what feels best for you_  
Phichit: _you still have a whole day to go sightseeing if you just take it easy today_  
Yuuri: _You’re right, thanks.  
_ Yuuri: _Have a safe flight._

Phichit lowered his phone, humming to himself contentedly.

“Good news?” Leo asked.

“No, just texting with Yuuri.” Phichit leaned over. Leo had his camera out, clicking through the photos he’d taken during the event. “Did you get any good ones?”

“Hard to be sure until I get the home, but I think so.” Photo after photo showed Guang-Hong in the middle of his short program. When those ended, the subjects diversified, including some of Phichit, and one of Victor and Yuuri, leaning against each other in a corner.

“Wait, go back, I want that one,” Phichit said.

Leo scrolled back. “Which one? This one of you by the rink?”

“No, the Yuuri and Victor one. Can you send it to my phone?”

Leo frowned. “I’d prefer to edit it first, before you send it to anyone.”

“I’m not sending it to anyone; I just want it for myself.”

Leo had his phone connected to the camera, and after a few taps the photo was texted to Phichit. “Any reason for this one?”

Phichit smiled at the image. “They’re inspiring.”

“That’s really… what you want, isn’t it?” Leo asked. “What they have.”

Phichit lowered his phone, exhaling slowly. “It’s complicated, the way I feel about them. But I think this whole trip has helped me understand myself better. I don’t want something casual, and I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else. I just want… you. All three of you. I want to spend my days as a part of your life, of Guang-Hong’s life, and Yuuri’s life, playing my different roles and making everyone happy. And at the end of all of it, I think…” He hesitated. “I think I want _you_ to take care of me.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I haven’t been sure about anything, these past few months,” Phichit said honestly. “But I love you, Leo. I love that you don’t make me give up the other things I love. I love that you love me even when I’m uncertain. Even when I… when I’m awful to you.”

“You’re never awful to me, love,” Leo said, putting his warm arm around Phichit’s shoulders. “Sometimes, you tell me what I need to hear.”

Phichit huffed a laugh. “ _Sometimes_ , he says…”

“Other times, you’re just telling me what’s on your mind. What you’re afraid of. How you’re feeling. You’re allowed to not like everything I do—Lord knows I do some dumb things, and I know I don’t always make the best decisions. But I think you always inflate in your head how much you’ve hurt me. What hurts me the most is when you hide things from me, or when you’re afraid of how I’ll react. With you… I can tell when you’re hurting, but I can’t always tell why. Until I know for certain, I’ll always believe I’ve done something wrong.”

His words pierced Phichit right in the chest. “I’m sorry…”

“I’m not saying this because I want you to feel bad and apologize,” Leo said. “I’m just trying to say, it hurts me the most when you’re hurting. I _want_ to take care of you, but when you don’t let me, I feel like my hands are tied. Since we’re being honest about what we want in a relationship… What I want most of all is for you to think of me first when you need something. Even if it’s just something as small as wanting someone to bitch to.”

“Even if I’m bitching about you?” Phichit asked.

Leo poked him in the face. “ _Especially_ if you’re bitching about me.”

“I’ll… try to keep that in mind,” Phichit said reluctantly. “I don’t want to hide things from you, either, but sometimes the things I’m thinking about don’t feel like they’re worth saying out loud. Some of them are just passing thoughts—things I can think once and let go after a while.”

“I’ll listen to anything, but if you want to hold onto those things, I won’t blame you,” Leo said. “Just make sure you tell me the big stuff. The stuff you can’t let go.”

“Okay,” Phichit closed his eyes, leaning into him. “I’ll try my best.”

“I just want you to feel like you can rely on me,” Leo said, pressing a kiss into Phichit’s hair. “That’s all.”

“I feel like I rely on you more and more every day. And it scares me, just a little.”

“Let me take care of you,” Leo said softly. “Give me a chance to be that person for you.”

Phichit took a long, deep breath. “You’re making emotional in an airport.”

“Good for passing the time. And you started it.”

Phichit started laughing just as Guang-Hong came back with a shopping bag in his hands. “Got my souvenirs. You two look cozy.”

“Care to join us?” Phichit asked.

“I’m afraid if I sit down I’m going to fall asleep again, so I’ll keep walking.” Guang-Hong said. “Trying to save my sleepiness for the long flight. But when I get back I wanna know what you were talking about that made Leo make that face.”

Phichit pulled away to look at Leo. “Face? What face?” Leo looked the same as usual, at least to Phichit.

“That face he was making before I—oh, nevermind.” Guang-Hong plopped his bag next to Phichit’s feet. “Text me if I’m not here when they start boarding.”

“You’ve got time,” Leo said.

Guang-Hong waved and wandered off.

“What face?” Phichit asked quietly.

Leo turned to look out the window. “Who knows?”


	31. Chapter 31

“Here.”

“I was wondering why you were dragging that around,” Yuri said, accepting the shopping bag and peering inside. “Oh. I thought he was sending it back with you.”

“He finished early. He also said to be careful with it, since some of the sequins were looser than he realized. But it should be fine for your next competition.”

Yuri pulled out his costume and examined the patch. “Tell… tell him thank you, for me.”

Victor smiled. “I will. So, how are you feeling?”

“Tired. But alright, I guess. I’ve had worse performances.”

“That’s far different than the tantrum I remember you pulling last year,” Victor said, amused. “You _hated_ Guang-Hong, back then.”

Yuri picked up his mostly-empty drink, sipping through his straw noisily. “That was… I had my reasons.”

“And what were those?” Victor wanted to know.

“He… fucked up my costume, on top of winning.”

“What?” Victor’s eyes widened. “This is the first I’ve heard of this.”

“He had some sort of… something, on his hand. It was dirty. He gave me a pat on the back to congratulate me on my silver medal, and it left behind this big black smear all over the white.” Yuri sighed. “I thought it was intentional, like rubbing salt into a wound, but seeing him this year… I’m starting to believe he didn’t do it on purpose.”

Victor laughed. “Is _that_ why you wrote ‘dick head’ on his skates, then?”

Yuri hung his head like he was ashamed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “It was ‘shit head’, but yeah.”

“Considering his friends, I don’t think he’d intentionally mess up another skater’s costume. He knows how much work they are to make.”

“Yeah, I know that _now_ ,” Yuri said. “Speaking of—where’s your boyfriend now? I expected him to follow you down.”

“He’s taking a nap right now. Where’s yours?”

Yuri flushed beet red, huddling deeper into his hoodie. “He’s on his way to the airport.”

“Is that going well, then?”

Yuri shrugged. “It’s fine, but I’m not going to talk about it.”

“Fair enough.” Victor sipped what was left of his latte, watching the people in the hotel lobby go about their business. The crowd that had been so consistent during the competition was finally starting to thin. “Why did you ask me to come down, then?”

“Because I didn’t want to leave without talking to you,” Yuri said. “I’ve been busting my ass getting ready for this competition, and we’ll both be busting our asses when you get back to Russia. I feel like the longer I put this off, the harder it will be to get a straight answer out of you.”

Yuri’s sudden seriousness put Victor on edge. He tried to keep it from his voice, plastering on a smile. “What is it, then?”

“What happened in Tokyo?”

Victor let out a relieved breath as discreetly as he could manage. He was expecting a different, harder to answer question. “It’s like I said—it was nothing. Just a bad start. Hard to recover from.”

“But _why_ was it bad? I’ve been watching you for over half my life; I know how you skate. Something happened there, and you’re not telling me for some reason.” Yuri shuffled his feet. “Was it because of me? Were you throwing in the towel so I would get qualified over you?”

“Surely you know I respect you more than that.”

“I don’t,” Yuri said flatly. “I _really_ don’t. I don’t know what goes on in your head when it comes to me, and most of the time I’m too afraid to ask. But that’s the only reason I could think of that you would perform that routine so badly.”

“It wasn’t because of you,” Victor said.

“What, then?” Yuri demanded. “Why are you being so cagey about this?”

“Because the whole thing was so stupid I can hardly believe it,” Victor said, pushing his hair out of his forehead in frustration. “I don’t _want_ to think about it. I don’t want to be reminded that I fucked up my last season for such a dumb reason. And I don’t want people to know, because they’ll only try to tell me it wasn’t dumb.”

Yuri grabbed Victor’s shoulder with his free hand, demanding his attention with an intense glare. “Tell me what happened.”

Victor had to tear his eyes away. “Yakov wasn’t there. I couldn’t get it out of my head that something terrible happened again. I was short on time, so it was either disqualify myself going after him, or skate distracted. I chose the latter. It would’ve been far less embarrassing had I chose the former.”

“Not to mention they might’ve gone easier on you, considering the circumstances.” Yuri released him. “You’re right, it’s a little dumb, but I get it. I’d have been worried, too.”

“I didn’t know how to process it after it happened,” Victor went on, words spilling out of him. “Him not being there blindsided me, and when I saw him at the end, completely fine, giving me a disappointed look, I just—snapped. I wanted to reject it as reality. I never told him the truth, but I think he knows anyway.”

Yuri looked down. “It was my fault he wasn’t there. I wanted to ask him a question, but I didn’t realize it was so close to your skate. I think he lost track of time.”

“And that’s another reason I didn’t want to say,” Victor said gently. “I didn’t want you to think it was in any way your fault.”

“It’s better than thinking you sabotaged yourself for my sake,” Yuri said. “Why did you come, though?”

Victor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t pretend you enjoyed watching us compete without you,” Yuri said. “Did Katsuki pressure you?”

“Actually, he offered for me to visit him instead of coming here. I chose to come here.”

“Why?”

Victor put a hand on Yuri’s head. “Now Yura, I can’t tell you all my secrets.” He stood. “Your flight leaves tonight, doesn’t it? You should make sure you’re packed.”

“This isn’t over, old man!” Yuri called after him.

Victor didn’t turn around until he was in the safety of the closed elevator. It was getting too easy to let his guard down around Yuri. He just couldn’t say no to those curious eyes, even when they were trying to dig deeper than Victor wanted.

That, and being around Yuuri again made him complacent. It was too hard to hide his emotions when Yuuri had him slobbering like a dog for his master. Normally he was happy to act more himself, but when it came to Yura…

Victor couldn’t think about that now. He had a vacation to finish.

Back in the hotel room Yuuri dozed on their king sized bed, curiously taking up most of the space despite his relatively small frame. Victor wanted to join him, but he knew his mind wouldn’t let him nap at this hour. That said, he had no qualms with taking it easy for a day, considering the previous night’s activities. It had been a long time since he’d let himself get _that_ drunk, and he couldn’t recall ever feeling the same high he’d felt dancing with Yuuri at the banquet last night.

That had been a delightful surprise. Yuuri was such a graceful dancer that Victor had become convinced he had training, though his sober mind was less certain. Victor knew that he was easily impressed when he had enough alcohol in his blood. He decided to ask Chris for his assessment later.

Victor gently nudged Yuuri over so that he could lounge on his side of the bed. Yuuri barely stirred, waking just enough to wipe the drool off his mouth before turning over and snoring again. If it were any other person, Victor might’ve found it disgusting, but since it was Yuuri, he couldn’t help but feel a little special. There were so few people in Victor’s life that were willing to let their guard down around him.

How far they’d come since the summer. Somehow Victor simultaneously felt like he’d known Yuuri forever, and yet also couldn’t get over the excitement of learning more about him. He’d never felt like this about anyone before. He wanted to know everything, yet also wanted to savor those beautiful moments where Yuuri completely blindsided him.

Victor reached over to his bag, pulling out his tablet to continue the novel he’d been reading. After a brief hesitation, he pulled out his reading glasses, too. He could read without them, but screens put a strain on his eyes, and he’d been told that using glasses might preserve his unassisted eyesight for a while longer. Those black plastic frames usually never left his bedroom, but with the downtime of vacation, he’d brought them along just in case.

Victor was several chapters farther when Yuuri stirred again, turning over with a soft groan. His eyes opened in a squint. “ _Megane…”_ His eyes drifted closed, then suddenly popped open again. “ _Megane! Biktoru no megane!”_

Victor had witnessed Yuuri speaking Japanese enough to recognize his name, but he had no idea what the other word meant. He smiled at Yuuri’s excited face. “Something wrong?”

“You—your glasses,” Yuuri stuttered, trembling as he sat up. “You’re wearing glasses.”

“I am.”

Yuuri leaned in close, his eyes scrutinizing Victor’s face. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Not many do.” Victor reached up to remove them to see Yuuri better, but Yuuri quickly put a hand on his arm.

“Wait.” Yuuri reached over for his cell phone. “Can I take a picture, first?”

“Only if you’re in it with me,” Victor said. He set his tablet aside and opened his arms invitingly.

Yuuri reluctantly went. “But I just woke up…”

“Good,” Victor said, kissing the side of Yuuri’s face. “That way you won’t be so eager to share the photo around.”

“I’m too selfish to share such a rare photo,” Yuuri said, smiling as he held up his phone for the selfie. “I might let Phichit see when I get home, but I’m not sending it to him.” He brought the phone down and gazed at the photo with softness in his eyes. “You look good in anything—it’s not fair.”

“I look good with you in my arms.” Victor squeezed Yuuri around the middle, pulling him even closer. “What would you like to do tonight?”

“I just woke up, and you want me to make a decision?” Yuuri whined. “Is there anything you want to do?”

“As long as it’s with you, I won’t be disappointed.”

Yuuri groaned and wriggled out of Victor’s grip, crawling to the other side of the bed. “That’s such a non-answer.”

“But it’s the truth,” Victor insisted. He pulled off his glasses and set them on the night stand. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. We could go shopping and have a nice dinner, we can stay here and eat room service, or anything in between. Museums are probably closing soon, though I think we agreed we would go tomorrow.”

“Shopping, huh…” Yuuri tapped on his phone.

“Something you want to buy? I can probably find a good place for us to go.”

“I don’t... What I have in mind isn’t something I’m exactly eager to go find in person…” Yuuri’s cheeks turned red.

Victor patted the bed beside him. “Tell me. Don’t be embarrassed.”

Yuuri returned to his side, resting his back against the nest of pillows. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, not meeting Victor’s eyes. “I just thought… Seeing Chris last night reminded me of that bag of things he gave us. The… toys you used together. I thought—thought it might be fun to… look at that sort of stuff. With you. If you want.”

Victor could feel the tension radiating from Yuuri’s body. While it wasn’t a suggestion Victor had expected, he wished Yuuri would’ve been more comfortable suggesting it. Despite everything they’d done together, their intimacy still had room for improvement, it seemed. “That sounds like fun. Anything you had in mind?”

“I… not really… Just, y’know, things like that… in general…”

Victor could smell the lie as soon as he started talking. He sighed. “Come here, Yuuri.”

“What? But I’m already—”

Victor spread his legs, and guided Yuuri to sit between them. He pulled Yuuri back until he was resting most of his weight on Victor’s chest, then grabbed his tablet, holding the screen where they could both see it. “I want you to tell me what you’re fantasizing about.”

“I’m—it’s nothing, really!” Yuuri squeaked.

“Yuuri…” Victor planted his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Why can’t you relax around me? What is it you’re hiding that you’re so embarrassed about?”

Yuuri deflated somewhat at Victor’s tone. “I’m not… I’m not trying to be embarrassed…”

Victor turned back to his tablet and brought up a browser. “Should we look at stores in Russian, or English?”

“Wh-why Russian?”

“I’m asking if you’re wanting to buy things for yourself, or if you want them shipped to me.”

“Oh… Well, I—I don’t know if I’ll buy anything, but for now… English is okay?”

“Hmm…” Victor did a quick search, and chose the first website that looked like it might have a decent selection for men. “What are we in the mood for, then? Lingerie? Dildos? Plugs?”

Yuuri was quiet for a long moment, then hesitantly reached his hand out and touched the screen. He scrolled a little, then let his finger land on the page for fetish gear—leathers and bondage.

“Ah, you did mention wanting to tie me up before,” Victor remembered. “Is that it?”

“Is that it…” Yuuri muttered quietly as he slid his finger up the screen. Victor didn’t know what he was getting at, but he knew patience was probably better than pushing Yuuri to answer.

Still, the silence was deafening. “Are you looking for something specific?” Victor asked him.

Again Yuuri didn’t answer, though Victor was starting to notice where his fingers hesitated, almost like he considered a closer look. Though Yuuri continued scrolling through the products, Victor was beginning to notice a pattern.

“You want me… immobile?” Victor tried.

Yuuri pulled back his hand. “…Yes.”

Victor waited for more, but nothing came. “…I’m into it,” he said sensually in Yuuri’s ear. “Tell me about this fantasy of yours. I’m curious.”

“I…”

“Relax, Yuuri,” Victor crooned. “Tell me. I’m not going to hate it.” The closeness was getting Victor a little aroused, so he decided to use that to illustrate his point, pushing his member against Yuuri’s lower back and blowing a small sigh in to Yuuri’s ear.

“It’s a… a fantasy I’ve had for a long time. Since before you…” Yuuri trailed off.

“Before I ruined your life, or before I apologized for it?”

“The—the latter. From when I hated you, but couldn’t let go of my obsession. Which is why it’s probably… not the healthiest of fantasies. I worried about even telling you at all.”

“What makes it healthy or not is how you feel about me and treat me now, not how you wanted me back then,” Victor said calmly. “There are healthy ways of getting what you want. And if I don’t like something, I won’t think lesser of you for it.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Yuuri said.

“I am,” Victor said. “You’re the best partner I’ve ever had. You’ve gone out of your way to accommodate my needs, so—”

“That’s the thing, though,” Yuuri interrupted. “I didn’t go out of my way. You just happened to want a part of what I already wanted.”

“I understand that, but—”

“I wanted to… to _own_ you,” Yuuri said quietly. “I wanted you bound and helpless. I wanted you to glare up at me as I forced you to lick the boots I used to step on you. I wanted to wrap your beautiful body in chains, putting you at the mercy of my fingertips until you were begging me for release. I wanted to degrade you, to humiliate you, to bring you lower than you’ve ever been. I wanted to be… your higher power.”

“You’re a sadist,” Victor breathed in disbelief.

“Only for you,” Yuuri said, sounding defeated. “Just you, and no one else. But even saying it aloud now, I don’t know that I’m capable of doing any of that. These were just things I thought about back then, things that… aroused me more than anything else.”

“You really hated me that much?” Victor asked, before he could think better of it. Of course he knew how Yuuri felt back then, and bringing it up now would only unearth unnecessary pain.

“It was an obsession,” he said. “Love and hate in equal measure. It felt like you ruined my life, so I wanted to feel what it might be like to ruin _you_. But the ‘you’ in my fantasies and the ‘you’ I love now aren’t the same person, not even close. I wouldn’t take any pleasure in hurting you, unless I knew it was what you wanted.”

Victor might’ve regretted his question as soon as he’d asked it, but Yuuri’s answer _did_ put him more at ease.

“Sorry—I thought it would be fun to talk about this stuff with you,” Yuuri said with a weak laugh, gesturing to the tablet. “Instead I turned it into a dark mess.”

“No, no, I pushed you into it,” Victor said gently. “And nothing’s a mess. I’m surprised, is all. I didn’t know your desires went so far in… _that_ direction.”

“You’ve done things to my heart you can’t even imagine,” Yuuri said quietly. “But really—I don’t know if any of this is actually what I want. It’s not like I’m bored with what we’ve done so far.”

Victor felt that ominous line like an icy chill down his spine, but let it slide with Yuuri’s change of subject. “One doesn’t have to be bored to discuss new ideas,” he said cheerily. “And for the record—I would gladly get tied up for you.”

“I noticed Chris tied your hands when we were all together… Had he done that before?”

“No,” Victor said. “But we discussed it in a text beforehand.”

“And you liked it?”

“Can’t say I was unhappy about the situation I was in,” Victor said. “But I’ve never felt the need to be restrained. Words were always enough to take me down.”

Yuuri pulled his knees up to his chest. “So, would you say…that you haven’t really pushed your boundaries all that much?”

“I suppose you could say that. At least in the years since I figured out what I wanted.” Victor set down the tablet and put his arms around Yuuri’s legs, pulling him into a full-bodied hug. “Chris would sometimes bring in a toy or two to spice things up, but most of our time spent together was the same routine. He scratched an itch that needed to be scratched. Usually by the time I called him, I was pretty desperate, so just having something familiar was enough.”

“What about your other lovers?” Yuuri asked.

“I mentioned before that none of them could really give me what I needed,” Victor said. “So trying to go beyond that was generally out of the question. _Their_ tastes were all fairly mundane, as far as I knew. Though I admit we might’ve just never made it to that point in the relationship where they felt comfortable sharing with me.”

Victor hated to remember past relationships in any detail. Most of them were buried in the depths of his mind, with only an occasional echo of emotions surfacing when he caught a glimpse of their face. It was never quite bitter, but never pleasant, either—each of them reminded Victor of another instance of his innate selfishness pushing people away. Even knowing that he had Yuuri, and that Yuuri’s desires aligned so well with his own that it no longer felt selfish, Victor couldn’t entirely shake the guilt of his past.

“I’m… glad you shared yourself with me,” Yuuri said. “I can’t imagine how painful it was for you to hold onto those feelings without knowing the person you cared about would be able to… accommodate them.”

“It wasn’t painful until I realized it wouldn’t work,” Victor said. “Before that point, I convinced myself things would be alright. Chris tried to warn me, but every time I fell into the same trap. I nearly did the same with you.”

Yuuri lifted his head, turning to look at Victor. “You did?”

“I told him I wanted to give you a chance even if you couldn’t… do what you do for me.” Victor closed his eyes. “I liked you that much. But it would have been so painful if I’d had to end it with you.”

Yuuri’s fingertips brushed Victor’s cheek. “Good thing you didn’t have to, then.”

Victor opened his eyes again to see Yuuri looking upon him with softness. “I hope…” Victor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I hope you know that I’m willing to work for things. If you have some desire I’m not entirely comfortable with, I’m still willing to try it. For you. If it makes you happy.”

“Nothing that makes you uncomfortable would ever make me happy,” Yuuri said, a weak smile on his lips. “And I’m not asking you to indulge in those fantasies I used to have. I’m happy to throw those away.”

“You don’t have to throw them all away,” Victor said, picking up his tablet again. “If you want me restrained while you insult me, I’m willing to give it a try. Some of the other things… we can work up to them, if you like.”

“I’m still not convinced I actually want all of that…”

Victor wasn’t going to argue, but he couldn’t get that quiet, serious tone of voice Yuuri had used out of his mind. Whether Yuuri fully was aware of it or not, _some_ part of him still wanted those sadistic fantasies. And now that the initial shock had worn off, nothing Yuuri suggested seemed all _that_ extreme. Victor couldn’t say he’d ever had the desire to lick someone’s boots, but if it were Yuuri telling him to do it…

Well, there’d be more time to think on that later.

They browsed the toy website a little while, discussing just _how_ Yuuri wanted to tie Victor up, and what he wanted to do with Victor after he’d achieved that goal. Hearing Yuuri talk at length in a conversational voice about sex was a surreal experience—not because it was unexpected, but because Victor couldn’t recall having these sorts of conversations with anyone but Chris. He’d never felt comfortable enough to be this open with any of his lovers. Sex was rarely more than a mutual exchange of pleasure and intimacy, which was enjoyable enough in the moment, but over time wore down Victor’s patience.

No matter how he looked at it, he needed a partner who understood him.

“I wouldn’t mind… watching you struggle a little,” Yuuri said, in that quiet voice he used when he was sharing a secret. Just his tone made the little hairs on Victor’s neck rise.

“So you don’t want me completely submissive, then?”

Yuuri rubbed his neck. “I can’t say I don’t want that, either, but… I like the idea of you trying to break free from me. Like I’m annoying to you.”

“Annoying?” Victor asked. “That’s an interesting word choice.”

“Well I don’t want to feel like you’re hurting, or panicking, or something like that…” Yuuri trailed off thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s like, I might have you tied up, but you still see me as beneath you. And then I… I insult you until you break down a little.”

“I could see that working for me,” Victor said agreeably.

“Really?”

“I like being a defiant little shit sometimes,” Victor admitted. “It’s fun. Reminds me of being a teenager.”

“But you were so poised and mature as a teenager…”

Victor snorted. “Say that to Yakov if you ever want to make him laugh.”

“So it was all an act, then?” Yuuri pouted. “I used to look up to you.”

“Well, I was probably forced to grow up a little faster than most, since I had so many eyes on me all the time. But I would always push boundaries wherever I could get away with it, which annoyed Yakov to no end. He couldn’t take his eyes off of me for more than a minute. The stories he could tell…”

Thinking about Yakov hadn’t been on Victor’s agenda, but the more his mind lingered on the man, the more dampened his mood became.

As if sensing his feelings, Yuuri found Victor’s hand and held it, lacing their fingers together tightly. “Are you ever going to talk to him?”

“I don’t know…”

“Did you even say goodbye before his flight?”

“The last time I spoke to him was yesterday at the banquet, letting him know I was staying through tomorrow.”

“Victor…”

Victor sighed. “I know. I know I’m being stubborn about it. But what can I even say to him?”

“Do you really want to go through the rest of your final season barely talking to your coach?” Yuuri asked. “What happens the next time you compete?”

“Well, ideally, I’ll have you there to—”

“Please don’t put that weight on me,” Yuuri said weakly. “Please. I’m going to do my best to be there for you, but I can’t… I’m not…”

His tone stabbed Victor right in the heart. “I’m sorry.” He squeezed Yuuri’s middle with his other arm. “You’re right, I wasn’t thinking.”

Yuuri pulled away, turning around to face him. “You need other people in your life, Victor. You can’t expect me to replace everyone you’re pushing away.”

Victor grimaced. “What makes you think I’m pushing people away?”

“Just seeing you, this trip. Between your coach, and Plisetsky, and the rest of the Russian team… It’s like you’re watching them all from a distance. I know it’s not my place to say things like this, considering I’ve only been watching a few days, but it’s clear these people care about you, and you treat them like you’ve already left for good.”

“Because, Yuuri…” Victor lowered his eyes, fingertips brushing against Yuuri’s chest. “When I’m with you, I feel like I already have.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Yuuri’s cracked voice made Victor look up. He was startled to see Yuuri’s eyes shining with tears. “I wish you would let those that care about you stay close to you.”

“Why postpone the inevitable?” Victor asked solemnly. “I’m going to leave.”

“Not forever!” Yuuri cried. “You can still keep in touch with them!”

“Did you?”

Yuuri stilled. “What?”

“Did you keep in touch with anyone after you left home?”

“I… that was different…”

“Was it? You had friends, didn’t you?”

“Victor…” Yuuri wiped at his eyes. “I was _alone_ when I left. My childhood friend and I had already drifted apart, years before I even considered leaving. The only friends I had were online, which weren’t even close friends to begin with.”

A painful lump formed in Victor’s throat. “Yuuri… I’m sorry…”

“I was never good at making or keeping friends,” Yuuri said, looking aside. “Phichit said it’s because I’m oblivious to other people caring about me. It’s probably true. But what’s true for me doesn’t have to be true for you. Let them care about you. Let them be closer to you. Keep your ties to your home. Don’t be like me, who can’t even muster the courage to visit.”

“It’s not that I want them to all go away…” Victor said carefully. “But I feel them trying harder to get me to stay. I don’t want to do anything to encourage that. I don’t want to hurt them more than I’m already going to. Especially not Yura.”

“He seems to care about you a lot already, though,” Yuuri said. “And you… You always seem happy when you talk about him. You watched him more closely than anyone.”

“He’s been compared to me for so long that I can’t help but feel attached to him…” Victor turned away from Yuuri, retracting his legs before letting them fall off the side of the bed. “But I can’t be what he needs, and I don’t know how to tell him that.”

“What does he need?”

“He needs not just a coach, but a _good_ one. A patient one. He needs someone to guide him carefully through the next few years of his career, or he might not make it long past that.” Victor rubbed his eyes, easing the tension this heavy conversation was creating. “He has the talent and the ambition to go far—farther than me, if I’m honest. But his body’s going through a transition that’s going to make things difficult. He’s going to lose things he’s used to having, and if he doesn’t learn to adapt, he’ll be well on the road to giving up.”

Yuuri turned and sat beside him. “You seem sure of it.”

Victor sighed. “I won’t say he’s going to have the exact same challenges as I did, but I’m seeing the signs.”

“Wouldn’t any good coach be able to help him?”

Victor shook his head. “Not Yura. If he switches coaches to someone he doesn’t know, he’s going to bottle up his difficulties and pretend everything’s fine for as long as he can get away with it. Then he’ll lash out at anyone who tries to help, and eventually self-destruct under the pressure he puts on himself. He needs someone who can read between the lines and tell him the truth, and it takes a long time to establish that level of trust. It wouldn’t be so bad if he were just starting out as a senior, or if he were a few years older. But transitioning at this point in his career leaves him so vulnerable, and I’m worried about him.”

Yuuri shifted his weight, clasping his hands together. “And there’s nothing you can do to help him? You can’t recommend a good coach?”

“I don’t know any,” Victor said. “I’ve taken it for granted that Yakov’s been around my entire career, so I never got to know anyone else.”

“And you don’t want to do it?”

Victor smiled weakly, his chest hurting to think about it. “Some days, I truly wish I could. I know Yakov wanted me to. But Yura’s family is in Russia. His career is already demanding enough that he doesn’t get to see them often—it would kill me to tempt him to move farther away from them.”

“You’re afraid he would follow you to America,” Yuuri concluded. “If you asked him.”

“As someone with so few pieces of family left, I could never do that to him,” Victor said. “And he won’t ask me to stay in Russia. He understands better than most people why I need to leave.”

“And there’s no way you would ever… stay an extra couple of years, is there? Until his career is less vulnerable.”

Just the mere suggestion of it made Victor’s mind short-circuit. He couldn’t find the words to articulate how impossible that would be for him.

“Sorry,” Yuuri muttered. “It’s not because I want that. I just wondered if you saw it as a possibility.”

“I didn’t even consider it,” Victor said flatly. “For first time in my life I’m looking forward to something that isn’t related to skating, and to give it up…”

“I know,” Yuuri said. “It’s difficult to be away from you, even just a week or two at a time. But you said yourself that skating careers have time limits, and those limits can wind up shorter than you expect if you don’t nurture them properly.”

“When did I say that?” Victor couldn’t recall.

“In an interview, about six or seven years ago,” Yuuri said.

Victor put a hand to his chin. “That must’ve been one of Yakov’s lines…” Yuuri’s memory for these sorts of things was a little alarming.

“At any rate,” Yuuri pushed on, “I would just hate for you to look back on your decision and regret it. One way or another, the opportunity to help him is going to pass, but you and I… we’re forever. We’re not going anywhere, no matter if we’re together or have half the world between us.” He kissed Victor’s cheek and stood up. “I think you should at least think about it.”

Yuuri went to the bathroom, leaving Victor alone in the silence to stew with his thoughts. Victor resented him a little, just then, being able to walk away so casually after dumping a truckload of emotional weight on him.

Victor had held onto the belief that being Yuri’s coach was impossible for so long that his mind had trouble doing anything outside of completely rejecting the idea. Postponing his move from Russia was among the last things Victor wanted. Yuuri was his lifeline, the one thing holding him together…

 _Regret_ …

Victor wished with all his heart that he could go back in time and prevent Yuuri from saying that word. That word was a pushpin, taking something he thought he’d decided already and tacking it right back onto his brain, a nagging reminder that his life was not as straightforward as he’d planned it to be.

He fell onto his back, closing his eyes and trying to push it all away. This wasn’t what he wanted to spend his vacation with Yuuri thinking about. These days were precious, so few and far between, and to think he might have to wait even longer for them… The thought chilled him to the core. Victor wanted to be _done._ He wanted to break free from the sport that loomed over most of his life, at least for a little while, so he could savor and explore his new life with Yuuri. A year—that was all he’d wanted. A year where his skating would be for fun and exercise, not intense practice. A year he could stop thinking about competitions.

 _You’re not going to break free,_ a voice in his mind told him. _You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Your life is skating. It always will be._

_But you and I… we’re forever._

Yuuri’s voice pushed through his thoughts. Victor’s reeling mind had glossed over that line, but now he held it in his mouth, tasting it, wondering how to accept it into his heart. _Forever_ was not a word people often said in the figure skating world. Even Victor’s concept of family had long lost the idea of _forever._ But Yuuri… The idea of having Yuuri forever—Victor wanted to wrap himself up in it. It seemed so simple and yet so profound a feeling that Victor couldn’t even grasp the extent. He might’ve known on a subconscious level that Yuuri would probably stay with him for a long time, but to hear that word aloud from the man himself…

“I’m sorry for—you’re smiling?” Yuuri emerged from the bathroom, looking fresh-faced and smelling like hand soap. He came closer. “No—you’re crying? Victor, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—a-ah!”

Victor pulled Yuuri down onto the bed, then wrapped himself around Yuuri’s body from the side. “I’m not upset at you,” he said. “I love you. And I love that you felt you could talk to me about this.”

“I just worry about you, is all…” Yuuri said, his voice gentle. “I know things are difficult for us right now, but I’m someone who will always be there. So if Plisetsky needs your help… I would wait for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s not a decision I can make right now,” Victor said. “Just the thought of not seeing you every day for what might be years is too painful. I need you too much.”

“I won’t pressure you in any direction,” Yuuri said. “Obviously I want you to live with me sooner rather than later, but I hope you can take my feelings out of the equation. I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it takes, you’re worth the wait.”

There in the bed, with Yuuri in his arms, Victor had no faith in his patience. His feelings overwhelmed him too much. Even if he tried to be Yuri’s coach, his mind and heart would be elsewhere all the time, and no one would be happy with the results.

Victor had worked almost his entire life for one purpose. Didn’t he deserve to quietly break free from it without guilt? Didn’t he deserve the life Yuuri offered him?

Or was he a fool to think that he could ever escape it?

* * *

 

Paris could be such a beautiful city.

Victor had visited enough times in his life that the luster had long worn off, revealing the glut of tourist traps and crowds at popular destinations, even in cold, cloudy weather. Everything was expensive, and visitors had no idea if they were buying from artisans whose family had been there for centuries, or someone who arrived two weeks ago in an attempt to make some quick cash. When Victor came to Paris last—which was around two years ago, if he wasn’t mistaken—he had only a small list of shops and restaurants to visit, pared down from his own experience and recommendations from trusted acquaintances. He would never be on par with the locals, but his French was good enough (and his look expensive enough) to avoid getting treated like a bumbling tourist in most places he visited. When he wasn’t recognized, he could almost pretend he lived there.

Yuuri had no such disguise, but it would have taken away some of the charm if he had.  Yuuri was a reserved tourist, taking pictures discreetly and whispering his comments, but his eyes always gave away his excitement. Those wide eyes drank in the sights so thirstily that Victor enjoyed watching Yuuri take in the city far more than any of the landmarks they were seeing.

Victor had talked Yuuri out of a visit to the Louvre, after explaining it was better saved for a trip when they weren’t so pressed for time. The promise of a future trip made Yuuri inordinately happy, so much so that Victor had to wonder why. Wasn’t it a given that they’d be traveling the world together once Victor retired?

“I just… don’t travel much,” Yuuri admitted, when Victor finally asked him. “I’m only familiar with two places, neither of which I’ve even explored very much outside of the small circle around where I lived. I get excited, thinking of seeing more of the world you know… Or even better, experiencing entirely new places with you.”

Sometimes, Yuuri could so easily say things that made Victor want to burst with emotion.

After being given the reins, Victor planned their day around a few smaller museums, eating lightly from cafes and stalls as they went. He was sad to see the Musée de l'érotisme had closed—he remembered visiting there with Chris some years ago and finding it fun in an oddly sensual way. It would have no doubt been a different experience with Yuuri, but one Victor was disappointed he’d never get to see.

In the last few minutes of daylight they managed to squeeze in a visit to Sainte-Chapelle, one of the few tourist spots Victor still enjoyed. Some found it too small or boring, but Victor always loved the ambiance, especially on overcast days like this one. The energy inside was quiet and solemn, Yuuri at his side discreetly snapping photo after photo. When they went upstairs, Victor tolerated it for just a moment before gently prying Yuuri’s phone from his hands.

Yuuri looked up at him questioningly, but Victor put a finger to his lips and gestured to the space around them. Seeming to understand, Yuuri took a deep breath and looked around. The windows weren’t as brilliantly lit as they would be in the middle of summer, but instead cast a subdued glow over the room, the colors subtle and easy on the eyes. It was peaceful in a way that only places of worship could seem to manage, and even though there were a handful of other people around, Victor felt like he and Yuuri were the only people there. Victor slipped Yuuri’s phone back into his pocket, and before he could pull back entirely, Yuuri slid his hand against Victor’s palm and laced their fingers together.

It was such a small thing. They’d held hands countless times. But there, beneath all that beauty, the feeling was amplified a hundredfold. Victor looked up at the nearest window, tears leaking from his eyes as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri squeezed back immediately.

In all his dreams, all his hopes and aspirations, Victor never could have imagined this feeling. Couldn’t describe it in words that would do it any justice. This feeling of being so _whole,_ so _connected,_ so _complete—_ no song or poem could have ever prepared him for it.

Yuuri leaned into him, bringing Victor back down to earth. Victor used his free hand to swipe away the tears, and tried to return his attention to the windows. He considered telling Yuuri that he could take more photos if he wanted, but didn’t trust his voice. They would be back here, though. Victor was sure of that.

They shared a quiet dinner at a small, warm place, then returned to the hotel for one last night together.

Yuuri plopped their shopping bags down by the door and fell onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “Ahh, I’m so tired.”

“Did you have fun, though?” Victor shrugged off his coat and hung it up in the closet.

Yuuri’s smile reached from ear to ear. “I did. There’s still so much I want to see, though. I wish we could stay another week.”

Victor went to the bed and climbed on top of Yuuri, caging him in. “We’ll come back. When I’m retired, we’ll come back whenever you want.” He plucked the glasses off of Yuuri’s face and kissed him slowly.

Yuuri licked his lips. “You taste like chocolate.”

“You taste like strawberries,” Victor countered. Their shared dessert had been a slice of strawberry chocolate cake. He set Yuuri’s glasses out of harm’s way before kissing him more heatedly, pushing his tongue deep into Yuuri’s mouth.

Yuuri moaned, his fingers digging into Victor’s sides as his thighs spread open. Victor had an inkling of what Yuuri was in the mood for, but he felt he should do the courtesy of asking anyway.

Victor pulled away just a few inches, so he could see Yuuri’s eyes. “Do you want me to…?”

Yuuri lowered his lashes, looking aside shyly. “I want to just make love to you. To be… connected. Whichever way doesn’t matter, so long as I can feel you.” He didn’t need to say the words Victor could read in his eyes—that this would be the last time until the next competition. And even though it wasn’t too far away, there was no guarantee there’d be much time for sex.

“Alright.”

There were no words after that. Their bodies said everything they wanted to say to each other, caressing, embracing, their hearts beating together wherever they touched. They undressed each other without rush, savoring every inch of skin they bared to one another as if it were a precious gift.

Victor could safely say he’d never made love to anyone like this before. He’d never wanted to. Every sexual encounter was chasing after that release, sometimes dancing along the way, but still moving ever forward. Here, Victor didn’t know what was forward. They were riding together on an ocean of sensations with only a vague destination in mind, and no hurry to get there. Victor could have stayed adrift forever and been content, for how much he loved simply being with Yuuri.

But eventually Yuuri’s hands began to move with purpose, and Victor faithfully followed. It was a quick parting to retrieve the necessary items, but soon Victor was back at Yuuri’s side, gently working him open as he made love to Yuuri’s sensitive chest. The sounds drawn out from his throat were music to Victor’s ears, making his blood hum with anticipation. Yuuri’s body opened up for him so easily, but still Victor took his time, caressing Yuuri’s insides until Yuuri writhed and squirmed beneath him. Victor knew without words when Yuuri couldn’t take anymore teasing, but just as Victor reached for the condom, Yuuri snatched it from him and slipped it on Victor himself. He urged Victor down onto the bed, and took his time slicking up Victor’s cock with long, slow strokes.

This position was new to both of them. Yuuri straddled Victor and slowly, _slowly_ lowered himself, closing his eyes until his ass touched Victor’s thighs. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, but he was sensitive, and Victor knew from experience how harrowing this could be the first time. Yuuri was so _tight_ around him, but Victor could just barely ignore the squeeze to take in the beautiful sight of Yuuri on top of him.

Their eyes met, a silent question. Yuuri nodded. He rolled his hips forward, lifted up, then eased back down. The rhythm was erratic at first, but eventually evened out as Yuuri found his pace, and Victor began to lose himself to the pleasure of it all. Yuuri surrounded him, both physically and emotionally, and Victor gave his entire self to him. He had his hands on Yuuri’s hips, but only to feel him, not to guide him or push him any which way.

Yuuri’s breathing quickened, his moans turning into strangled whines as he tried to quicken his pace, losing his rhythm in the process.

“Vic—vic—tor…”

Victor was so close that hearing his name cried out so desperately almost finished him. He grasped Yuuri firmly to hold him steady, and drove his hips up into him, making Yuuri gasp. His cries escalated, Victor moaning uncontrollably himself, and just as he felt Yuuri’s body seize beneath his fingers did he finally let himself go over the edge. The orgasm rolled on and on, Yuuri’s cum spraying endlessly over Victor’s chest while Victor emptied himself into Yuuri.

Yuuri used his hands and knees to climb off, collapsing into a heap beside Victor. Their lube-covered hands found each other, fingers sliding together with obscene ease. Victor didn’t care. Nothing about him could care.

Yuuri snuggled closer, his breath hot against Victor’s ear. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice dry.

Victor almost couldn’t say it back. It didn’t feel like enough. If he could have said it with his heart, he would have. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.” His own voice was dry, but watching Yuuri, he knew he’d heard it all.

They eventually managed to do a basic clean up, but neither of them had the energy for more than that. After setting some early alarms, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, Victor trying his hardest to forget about tomorrow.

* * *

 

Victor woke up to find the space next to him empty. The room was still dark—a glance at the clock told him it was nearly 4am—and the sheets were still slightly warm, but Yuuri wasn’t there. Victor turned around and found Yuuri standing in front of the window, completely naked, bathed only in the lights of the city.

Victor could do little else but stare, wondering what was going through his lover’s mind. He looked thoughtful and distant, his fingertips just barely brushing the glass of the window.

It was a few moments before Yuuri noticed Victor watching. “S-sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. Though I might’ve fallen back asleep if you were still where I left you.”

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

“Something you want to talk about?”

Yuuri shrugged, and sat on the edge of the bed near Victor’s feet. “I don’t know how much talking there is to be done. I’m just thinking about abstract things like life and the future.”

“Having second thoughts about your offer of waiting for me?” Victor guessed.

“No,” Yuuri said, looking at his hands in his lap. “I was thinking about all the ways you’ve effected my life. Not just since we’ve met, but before that, too. Maybe I’m okay waiting a year or two longer to be with you because I feel like you’ve always been a part of my life, in one way or another.” He let out a long breath. “And then I started thinking that the way you feel about me is probably incredibly different than the way I feel about you. You’ve been a part of my life for a long time, but me… I’m still new to you. I started to wonder if…” He smiled weakly. “Well, I’m just hoping you don’t grow bored of me when we live together. I’m not a very interesting person, and I feel like if you took away the anticipation, our life together might not be as exciting as you’re used to.”

Victor slid out from under the covers to sit next to Yuuri. He could tell Yuuri wasn’t looking for fawning reassurances, but he wanted to be closer. “Do you know why I fell in love with you?”

“Because I know how to insult you?”

Victor shook his head. “I was in love before I knew that.”

“Why, then?”

Victor put his lips near Yuuri’s ear and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Because I found you _interesting._ ”

Yuuri frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

Victor shrugged. “It’s the truth, whether you believe it or not. I loved listening to you talk about your work. I loved the way you enjoyed your food. I loved watching you pour yourself into the costumes. I loved the way you stood up to me when you thought you were being wronged. And the way your eyes would shine when you were excited… It took my breath away.” He looked towards the window, eyes unfocused on the blurry city lights. “You and Phichit accepted me so easily as your friend. If you’d had no romantic interest in me, I might’ve still tried to hold onto that friendship, despite my feelings for you. That’s how much I liked you. I’m sorry if I didn’t do enough to make you see it.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Yuuri said. “When I think too much, I always doubt myself, no matter how much evidence is under my nose. I guess I’m just… still in disbelief that this is actually happening.”

“Me too, sometimes,” Victor said. “I think to myself, how did I find such a perfect love so easily? Do I really deserve this? Am I going to screw it up?”

Yuuri laughed. “No way. There’s no way you think that.”

“I do,” Victor insisted. “You’re not the only one allowed to doubt yourself.”

“I get it, but I just… It’s hard to believe, sometimes. When I’m with you, alone like this, it’s easy to forget who you are. It’s easy to think of you as just another man.” He touched Victor’s hair. “A beautiful man, to be sure, even with a messy bedhead, but still a regular man. A mortal, like me.” He withdrew, his mouth a thin frown. “But when we’re apart, or when we’re out in public in a big group of your fans, I’m reminded that you’re not just a man. You’re Victor Nikiforov, one of the greatest figure skaters of all time—if not _the_ greatest—and it’s difficult to imagine myself as anywhere near worthy to stand beside you.”

“What type of person do you think I should have beside me, then?” Victor asked. “A famous actor? A musician? Another figure skater?”

Yuuri stared at him a long moment. “I can’t picture anyone beside you.”

Victor smiled sadly. “Then I suppose I’m cursed to stand alone until I fade into obscurity.”

“I’m not saying that I shouldn’t—that I want to—”

Victor put a finger to Yuuri’s lips. “We share a common interest in figure skating. Our careers are adjacent and non-competitive—which really opens up our ability to communicate but also keeps us interested in one another’s work. Our friends get along. Our age gap is negligible. We don’t have much to worry about financially. No children or baggage from previous relationships. Sexually—well, do I even need to say?” He withdrew his finger. “If you’re judging our compatibility on how we would look together on paper, we have far more in our favor than against us, in my opinion. Not that I ever like to look at relationships in that way.”

Yuuri looked down, shamefaced. “Me, either, but—when you put it that way…”

“My fame will fade over time,” Victor said. “My love won’t. I know there’s no easy way to convince you we’re on the same level, because it’s too easy to see all the ways we’re different. But when I’m with you, I forget who I’m _supposed_ to be—you let me be the person I actually am, without the false smiles and having to always watch what I say. That, to me, is vastly more important than someone who understands how it feels to be famous. I _like_ that you’re not from my world, because you wouldn’t be who you are otherwise.”

Yuuri hastily wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I _really_ didn’t mean to wake you up for this. I usually talk myself out of these thoughts eventually.”

“If anything I said tonight has helped you in any way, then it was completely worth it.” Victor wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, pulling him close. “And I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me about these things.”

“I never feel they’re worth talking about, because I know in my heart they’re not true,” Yuuri said, letting his head fall on Victor’s shoulder. “These doubts aren’t rational, but in the dead of night I can make them seem that way. I’m… glad I talked to you this time, though.” He pressed his cold nose against Victor’s neck. “You’re good at talking to me.”

Victor chuckled. “Are you sure I don’t make things worse?”

“Not at all. You reframed it to make me see it from your perspective, which is not something I’m great at on my own. And just… Knowing that you won’t make fun of me for saying something stupid... It’s comforting. I like that I can talk to you.”

“I can’t promise I’ll always know what to say,” Victor said. “But I’ll try my best, whenever you need me.”

“I hope you’ll talk to me, too,” Yuuri said. “About things that bother you. Even if I can’t help, sometimes talking is the only way to sort out the things that have spent too much time in your head. I want to be someone you feel like you can talk to.”

Victor tenderly kissed Yuuri’s cheek. “Trust me—you already are. Will you come back to bed with me?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri shivered. “I’m getting too cold out here, anyway.”

“I’ll be sure to warm you back up.”

* * *

 

No matter how hard they wished for the morning to stay away, eventually, the sun came up and the alarms went off. They showered sleepily, ate a light breakfast of room service pastries, packed their things, and too soon they were sharing a cab to the airport. Victor’s flight was later and shorter than Yuuri’s, so he stayed by Yuuri’s side as long as possible. Their parting loomed over them like a dark cloud as they walked through the airport, making idle comments on the various shops.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” Yuuri said, when it was close to his boarding time. “I’m sure staying at home with you would’ve been nice, too, but I liked being here with you. Between the excitement of the competition, and all the food, and hearing you speak so much French—I’ll treasure this vacation for the rest of my life.”

“This was nothing,” Victor said. “Our future trips will be so grand you’ll forget all about this one.”

Yuuri lowered his eyes. “I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you to be here. I hope you enjoyed yourself anyway.”

“What?” Victor blinked. “Where is this coming from?”

“I... I feel like it might’ve been painful, to watch everyone else compete without you. Just a feeling I got. I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought I might’ve imagined it, and I didn’t want to make you think about it if it wasn’t true.”

“It’s true, in the sense that I felt I should’ve been out there,” Victor admitted, “but don’t let yourself believe for a moment that I didn’t enjoy myself. I loved every moment spent with you.”

Yuuri smiled up at him. “If you’re sure.” The attendant called Yuuri’s group for boarding. “Well, I should get going. I love you.” He embraced Victor tightly.

“I love you, too,” Victor said, squeezing back with all his strength. “Safe flight, _solnyshko.”_

Yuuri pulled away, eyes wide as a flush took over his cheeks. Victor had no idea if Yuuri knew what it meant, but perhaps the way he said it was enough. “Y-you too. I’ll call you when I get home.” They kissed, just briefly, and Yuuri rushed off to join the queue.

Victor waited until Yuuri had gone out of sight before finally heading to his own gate. Despite the lingering feeling of Yuuri’s arms wrapped around him, Victor couldn’t fight the loneliness settling onto his shoulders as he walked away. The trip spoiled him with so much Yuuri that the moment he had to do without, Victor wanted to curl into a ball and shut out the world.

But there was no time for that. Victor pulled out his earbuds and plugged them into his phone, queuing up the music from his programs. He would have to make up for lost time as soon as he landed if he wanted to be at his best in time for nationals.

Missing the GPF had been a setback Victor wasn’t exactly prepared to deal with, but now he was eager for another chance. The most painful thing about watching the competition was that if he were in top form, he _knew_ he could have bested all of them. They were good, yes, but Victor knew he could be better, and he desperately wanted to prove it.

One last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a year to the day since I started posting this fic, which is pretty insane to me. I can't believe I had once hoped to finish this by the end of last year--the story really got away from me.
> 
> I originally planned to update with just chapter 29 and 30, but I didn't like where I'd ended it, so I typed up the next chapter rather hastily. Since I haven't been sitting on it as long as the others, I feel like it might seem a little rougher, but it moved the story to the point I wanted to be when I started writing the next arc. I hope it satisfies.
> 
> I did not intend to leave this fic without updates for four months. We had a rather shocking death in the family that put me and my partner out of commission for a month and some change. I had time to write, but no creative energy left. When we were finally starting to attempt to get back to normal, it was hard to get back into the rhythm of working on this. I let other projects take away my focus for a little while, knowing I needed to let this sit until it called to me again. About a month ago, it did, but I was unhappy with some of what I'd written before, so it took a while to rework it into something I liked. 36k words later, I have an update I'm mostly happy with. I hope you all can find something in it you like, too.
> 
> (As an aside, I skipped writing the GPF itself on purpose. I preferred telling about it through the other characters after the fact, and a few more details will come to light in later chapters.)
> 
> Since I cannot predict what will happen in the future, I can't say with any certainty when the next update will be. But I'm going to do my absolute best to make the gap between updates much smaller than the last one, haha. We're also getting into the last stretch of the story, so being able to see the ending ahead of me might make my brain work a little faster. We'll see. Thank you for sticking with me after all this time, I really do appreciate all the comments and kudos. Like all fic, I write this primarily for myself, but it's wonderful to know that others get something out of it, too.


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